


Children of Light

by KnockKnockBadminton



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, M/M, Noctis is absolutely love struck and silently pines for Prompto nearly the second they meet, Promptis is the end game but there is a lot of plot as well, Slow Burn, Thirty Year Old Noctis, Time Skips, Twenty Year Old Prompto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 85,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnockKnockBadminton/pseuds/KnockKnockBadminton
Summary: Prompto Argentum and his family are crown citizens who emigrated to Insomnia from Niflheim when Prompto was four. Following the death of King Regis, Noctis assumes the throne as King of Lucis at twenty eight years old. Noctis' recent ascension leads to political and social chaos within Insomnia. Prompto's decision to try to change the social standing of Niflheim citizens in Lucis lands him before King Noctis, leaving Prompto to realize that there is much more to the chaos than initially believed. His role in uncovering the plot only leads him closer to the King and his Glaives in ways he never believed to be possible.8/18/18 update: this story is not abandoned, I'm just busy!





	1. Citizenship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Just letting you know that this story is a little plot heavy. Promptis is the end game, but it's going to take a while to get started! I'm finally posting chapters where it is happening, but the first few chapters provide context for the story. Thanks! 
> 
> ONLY this chapter is in first person for reasons that will be apparent later.

Prompto takes a single look at his captors, speaking for the first time in ages.

"Everyone can tell from the blonde hair that I’m from Niflheim. Citizens of the Crown City of Lucis – ethnic ones, that is – were never born with hair lighter than auburn. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate; before, cases of blonde children born to Lucian parents made the newspaper on rare occasions, but more for their curious novelty, and less for the lack of genetic integrity having the recessive genes of a parent or grandparent of the Empire implied.

It wasn’t uncommon for classmates of mine in school to bleach their hair as brightly as possible when we were teenagers. As the sole blonde in the class of a hundred or so, I could never say it was in an attempt to mimic Niflheim beauty standards. Rather, it was always done to get a rise out of their parents or teachers. Most of us never went beyond piercings or scrawling symbols of the Empire upon walls and notebooks – the natural blacks and browns never take to bleaching agents, and many of my classmates realized that buying twice the amount of lift and spending twice the amount of recommended time with the chemical on their head was never worth the edgy gasps or trips to the headmaster. Especially not when fifteen students hopped on the trend at once, softening the edgy blow, and especially not with an _actual_ Niff Lucian sitting next to them in class.

The intrigue wore off when they realized their desperate cries for attention were drowned out by the loudness of my simple existence.

Money is an important factor for teenagers – we either had none of it, or just enough of it to cherish every purchase we made. So, by time I was a third year, the cost and the nightly reportages on the news of the “anti-Lucian trend among teens” scared enough of Insomnia’s youth to stray off into less inflammatory cries for attention. I never felt the need to rebel against my family; we’ve always just gotten along.

Okay, so my last statement about not having a rebellious streak is not entirely true.

_“Your mother and I did not spend thousands of Gil and camp for dozens of days before the Lucian embassy so you could earn C’s and D’s,”_

My father had sternly lectured me. His Niff accent sometimes peeks through his now unaccented Lucian dialect when he’s truly angry. When I hear traces of the old country in his voice, that’s when I know I’m nearing the crossing of a very dangerous boundary. It was the last time I had ever compromised my grades in an attempt to beg for attention; the slaps on my ass were all the attention I’d ever wanted. It made sense for my father to be harsh about that kind of thing; my parents are immigrants. It was always me and the kids from Galahd whose parents showed up to the conferences, even when we were the only students who didn’t actually need them. It was just one of those things I’d come to know.

I spent most of my life relatively comfortable with my parents. Our home, a small brick townhome in the heart of the city, is cramped, outdated, and even a little rundown if you scrutinize the piping or the insulation long enough – but it was _ours_. My parents left Gralea for Insomnia when I was two.

Apparently I had been born at an unfortunate time, when children of the Empire were selected at random by the government to partake in a system of “enrichment and experimental exercises”. I’d never been a lucky one, so I was one of them. Eventually the movement became so galvanized by the Empire, that parents so “patriotic and loyal to the Kingdom of Niflheim” began offering up their children even if not picked by the lottery. The political hysteria was not powerful enough to rival nationalist loyalty. Even when children entered into the program, voluntarily or not, began to go missing, the government answered fewer and fewer questions posed by the few citizens rogue enough to ask them.

Around the same time as the program peaked, new and innovative soldiers called Magitek served as the basis of the Niflheim army, replacing many of the military’s flesh and blood soldiers. More and more soldiers appeared, more and more children missing. Eventually, anti-government protesters began to disappear, too.

“Maybe the children are off building them,” some citizens had suggested, holding tight to the wool before their eyes, lest it get violently pulled from before them. “Maybe they’re getting trained in how to operate or fix the units,” others rationalized. Deep down, however, many had made very grim, but also very silent, connections between the two.

My parents, uncontent to lose me to a meaningless void with no reparations from a corrupt government, risked their lives and campaigned to the Lucian embassy to grant us residency.

“You’ll never get a visa,” a man from my father’s factory almost mockingly determined, shaking his head gravely. “The Lucians barely accept immigrant cases as it is, and especially since the erection of that wall.”

“Why would you ever want to leave?!” a woman with whom my mother often commiserated over coffee exclaimed. She wore the lunacy of her loyalty to the Empire in her being like a badge of honor – _literally_. Women who gave up their children to the Empire were awarded with ultimately worthless badges and pins: bronze for three children, silver for five, and gold for nine. “Have you no loyalty? It is an honor to have a son of Niflheim be chosen!” she barked. Her eyes were narrow and judging, according to my mother. Although the gold on her chest had blinded her whenever it caught into the sun, my mother claims that it was this conversation, ironically, that invoked a specific clarity within her: if she wanted her family, if she wanted _me_ , she would have to leave the home she’d known for nearly three decades.

It had not been an easy process. She and my father had left in the middle of the night, packing what little they could into a suitcase, leaving the small apartment they were renting in Gralea otherwise entirely furnished. They’d managed to intercept the convoy transporting me, along with dozens of other children, to another facility just outside the border of Gralea (they’d been tipped off by a radical journalist looking to expose the entire program). Dad says they plucked me off when the truck had stopped at a checkpoint, and mom says they’d convinced me to jump from the back when the truck was getting gas. I imagine I’ll never know the truth.

I remember none of it. All that remains of whatever was meant for me in that time is a barcode upon my wrist, a killer opening that always gave me at least ten minutes of attention on the off chance I was invited to a house party.

I always thought it was funny, weird, an unfamiliar happening that feels almost as if it happened to someone else, even though this very same happening is the reason why I am who I am today. When we finally arrived in Lucis, my parents changed our last name – both to appear more Lucian, but also to obscure our identities, in case anyone from the Empire meant to trail us for treason. I can’t remember what my last name was before _Argentum_. Sometimes my father will say it aloud, but the way his accent obscures the pronunciation in the original Gralean transforms it into syllables I’d long forgotten how to pronounce. My mom refuses to utter it. Even the sound of the Niflheim national anthem sets her off into tears. She’ll just leave the room whenever my father and I start to talk about it. I stopped asking questions for her sake. She’d been through enough.

That’s why I’m only a Gralean by blood, by technicality. I know nothing before Lucis, my whole life and identity forged by and _in_ Insomnia. When King Regis passed away shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I’d heard the Galahdian slums in the lower east side of Insomnia had erupted with rumors. The Galahdians, annexed citizens of Lucis, had a love-hate relationship with the crown. Some celebrated Regis’ death as a sign of eventual Galahdian independence. Others mourned it, out of love both for their king, but also out of fear that a lack of buffer between their country and the Empire meant assured annexation for a second time – definitely by a less benevolent ruler than Regis had been in his reign.

His young, and only son, Noctis, had assumed the throne at twenty eight – he was only ten years older than me, but seemed so much older, so much more weary and exhausted. I remember remarking to my mom that it was ironic, that such a sleepy prince resided in a city called Insomnia. She found it funny, but also pretty sad.

I mourned Regis, as did my family. We liked him. Apparently he had personally listened in to the case my parents plead at the embassy – well, one of many, on one of many days. His son, Noctis, tries his best. I don’t hate him the way many Galahdians do. But there’s no missing the fact that the longer Noctis spends on the throne, the more influence the government seems to usurp.

Lucius had always been considered one of the only benevolent monarchies in the history of Eos. The governmental body was functioning and held a significant amount of power to prevent complete tyranny from the crown, but ultimately, the decisions of power lie solely in the Lucis Caelum bloodline. It was clear, however, that many within the government had seen the gap in power between the death of the father and the rising of the son as a chance to seize power. It’s been a subtle transition. Most don’t even notice.

The only reason I do is because those of Niflheim descent have no _choice_ but to notice. I won’t pretend as if Niflheim aggression hasn’t increased since King Regis’ death. I won’t pretend like the government’s concerns aren’t valid. I won’t pretend that my own disassociation with the truth of my past didn’t blind me at first; I was as much a crown citizen as the brown and black-haired, just as concerned as any one annexed into the kingdom about our sovereignty.

But the few of us blondes within the border of Lucis are twice as likely to be stopped, our papers checked and questioned. Graleans born in Lucis, but to Niflheim parents, are having their citizenship questioned, their validity of their enrollment in schools second guessed. Niff Lucians – that’s what we few have been called for as long as I can remember – have found themselves suddenly subjected to a scrutiny undeserved and unearned, prior to the new government’s systemic suspicion regarding us.

My mom says to say we are blondes of Tenebrae. The neighbors know better. The blonde of Tenebrae is silvery white, the color of their hair matching that of the light filtered through the green leaves that engulf the small country; ours is almost yellow, but I don’t know enough about Niflheim to explain why. The police know better, too. They always insist to see papers. I’m a pretty forgetful person as it is, but the trouble of dealing with the police far outweighs the extra energy it takes to remember to bring my id with me.

I don’t keep up with anyone from high school, thus I only had my parents to share my fears with. Of course they agree. The voices of the average Lucian go way above my head; my regulars at the camera store I work at make less and less conversation with me since the first waves of propaganda rose. It’s just me and Atlas at the shop, the owner. He’s old and set in his ways, but insists my Niff Lucian heritage doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Don’t care where you’re from, kid,” he said as I brought in a flyer I’d seen stapled to a telephone pole. _Buy Lucian, Think Lucian, Be Lucian_ , it said. The poster featured a young, raven haired couple with a handful of Lucian made products, a blonde haired shadow lurking behind a wall. It said more than enough. “Show me an ethnic Lucian who knows cameras and the art of photography the way you do.”

I couldn’t help but smile. At least I’ll always have a job, I guess."


	2. Graleans Need Not Apply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, the first chapter of this work is Prompto narrating for the scene about to take place below. Let me know if everything reads clearly. Let me know if it doesn't as well! Thanks as always.
> 
> This is gonna seem like a strange disclaimer, but I'm not trying to make any kind of profound political statements with this story. I just draw a bit from history (And present day, for that matter), I'm not trying to memorialize any struggles or anything, even as a woman of color. I dunno, I just feel like doing so through FF15 slash fanfic would be super disingenuous to the victims of history. Kind of like that My Little Pony Holocaust edit. I dunno. I'm weird.

“I’m going to have to stop you there.”

Prompto closes his eyes, licking his dry, sore lips. He welcomes the chance to take a break.

Ignis, who sits on the edge of the richly varnished table, unfolds his arms and sighs heavily once the blonde remains consistently silent. His gloved hand fans through the swoop of auburn bangs resting gently against his forehead. Prompto knows it is a move of desperation; he is no stranger to the feeling as of late. Gladio behind them draws back a set of thick, velvety golden curtains, a thick sash of early evening light filling the study, crowning them as celestial royalty. The shadowy black of the sleek table and chairs gleam in the brilliance of the sunset. The silver ornamentation on the edges catches so brightly in Prompto’s eyes, he turns his head and closes them. It does no good, for he still sees spots behind his already exhausted mind.

The same bespectacled man brings his heavy leather boots to the waxed wood floor.

The steel of the toes and various silver buckles clink with every unexpectedly dainty pace he makes. Prompto watches the man, light and ballerina like on his feet.

He slowly strides, straight backed and square shouldered, toward the other man by the curtains. Ignis whispers into the ears of the other in secret. The blonde is too sluggish to attempt to intercept their hushed words. The hair on his arms stands on edge, aroused by the buzzing bass of their concealed voices.

Prompto winces, slightly in pain. The blades of his shoulders are pulled tautly due to the ropes that bind his wrists behind the thick, wood of the chair in which he is forced to sit. Each accidental shift causes the ropes to chafe at his raw and sore ankles, uncaringly bound by his captors.

“I don’t _know_ where he is, Gladio!” the man in glasses lets passionately slip from their reserved conversation, clearly out of frustration by the way he balls his fists and turns away from his colleague. Prompto cannot help but strain his eyes to follow the man as he attempts to channel his unrest into his slow pace around the width of the study.

The deep, slow drawl of the man’s voice continues to catch the blonde’s attention, for there is no mistaking his stark accent; although Prompto cannot place its origin, he can only assume the man stems from a foreign background – no other member of the court or government spoke in such a distinct way.

“For the love of _The Six_ , where the bloody hell are you!?” the soft accented voice now shrilly interrogates into the phone he presses against his cheek, thin mousy brown eyebrows furrowed in anger and concern.

“Watch it, Iggy!” The taller, broader man who still stands by the curtain growls, knicking his head at Prompto; their conversation is obviously meant to be private. The other man merely waves his hand in indignant acknowledgement of the command. The one by the curtain grunts, keeping a threateningly aggressive watch on Prompto.

The sheer size of his build sends a shiver down Prompto’s spine.

Prompto could not mistake the uniform of the Kingsglaive the two men wear if he tried, but he cannot help but indulge the sneaking suspicion that the muscular man served more advantageous roles to the Crown than the uniform implies.

“We have to keep watch on _him_!” the bespectacled Glaive growls at his colleague, angling his lips and eyes toward Prompto.

“Take the conversation outside, Ignis, I’ll watch the kid,” Gladio snarls back. Ignis rolls his eyes and huffs before conceding to the other’s suggestion. Prompto jumps at the slamming of the heavy stone door as Ignis takes his leave, his exit triggering from Gladio a heavy-footed swagger toward the blonde, the ground creaking weakly under every step.

He knows the usage of the word _kid_ had not come from a place of endearment – rather disgust, or condescension. While the air is adequately heated to mask the chill in the late winter air, it is unmoving and stiflingly still. The only noise shared between them are the rough, short breaths that the broad man exhales through his nostrils. Ten minutes pass, and seemingly nothing changes; their silence, their stances – the broad Glaive leaning his lower back against the heavy desk – not a thing within the study shifts, and the tops of the skyscrapers beyond that join them so high are stationary.

Prompto does not even register his disassociation until the black stone door parts once more, the light footed Glaive closing it behind him.

“On his way,” is all Ignis cryptically offers, assuredly to the broad man, and not to Prompto. “We wait for him before we continue.”

Prompto had not been briefed on just precisely whom it is of which they so worriedly speak.

 _‘Head of the Glaives, maybe?’_ he internally guesses, though his train of thought is instantly severed as Ignis picks up the large, cumbersome camera they had confiscated from his person.

“Put – put it down!” Prompto insistently croaks, his tone aggressive, though not without a hint of begging desperation. The chair scoots across the floor, his bound body involuntarily jerking toward them, dragging the seat along with him. Ignis naturally pays him no mind, but instead he attracts the attention of the broader Glaive. Gladio furrows his brow before balling his fist and approaching Prompto, pulling it back before slamming it uninhibitedly against the blonde’s jaw –

 _“GLADIO!”_ Ignis panics, placing the camera down heavily as Prompto cries in pain, his jaw stinging with unimaginable pain. “Gladio are you out of your _mind_?!” he breathlessly pleads as he lowers himself to his knees to observe the moaning blonde who cannot nurse himself due to his restraints. Ignis narrows his eyes as he gently takes his chin into his hands, Prompto whimpering under the touch.

“He’s not been tried with anything, Gladio, he is still a _suspect_!” he lectures sternly, his voice even, though burdened with displeasure.

"You're really gonna take his side?! After all those months of _searching_ for his ass –” Gladio fiercely fires back, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. “He’s a _Niff_ , Ignis, and a criminal one at that! Don’t turn this on me because I’m not rolling out the red carpet for an _insurgent_ –“

“Mistreatment of suspects under our custody will cost us what little trust the crown still holds with its people, Gladio,” Ignis continues, firm and cool.

“He was giving orders, the scum–“ he stumbles over the end of his sentence once he sees Ignis pays him no further mind, made evident by his eye roll.

“A room such as this is no place for such methods of interrogation, Gladio,” Ignis unamusedly explains, gesturing toward the fine Oriental rug upon which the desk rests. “You know His Majesty would find it most unfortunate if you were to sully his favorite study with such unsavory décor.”

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Ignis laps up a trickle of blood that seeps from between Prompto’s swollen lips, his eyes closed in pain.

“He’s already tied and captured, Gladio, what more can we rightfully relinquish from him in this moment?!” Ignis angles his head slightly upward, though his eyes are darted sideways, pointedly ignoring Gladio’s face.

“Justice for _Luna_ …” Gladio growls. A shudder wracks Prompto’s frame at the mention of the Oracle’s name. News of Lunafreya’s mysterious disappearance two months ago had devastated him and his family as it had the entire population of Lucis. The dark haired man, who cares little for what fraction of his story Prompto had shared before being interrupted, does not retract his suspicions, even knowing that Prompto had not left Lucis since he was two years old – and thus a highly unlikely candidate for wishing harm on the Oracle, regardless of his nationality or birthplace.

“Fetch him ice,” Ignis snaps, Gladio tensing his own jaw. The taller man mulls over the command given to him by his equal, confidant, and friend, the silence between them only leaving room for Prompto’s intermittent whimpers as Ignis parts the blonde’s jaw. Gladio shakes slightly, both with rage and adrenaline. His eyes are narrowly fixed on Ignis, who continues checking that his teeth are not knocked loose.

“It’s more than a piece of shit like him deserves – if anything happens to the Oracle by their hands –”

“Gladio…” Ignis quietly whispers.

“You better believe anyone with even a Niff stamp in their _passport_ will be sorry – “

“ _GLADIO_!” Ignis shouts, a surprising amount of bass and authority stemming from the gentleman in his anger.

Gladio mumbles under his breath, just loud enough for Ignis to hear. The bespectacled man, however, says nothing more. Seconds pass between the three men in stiff, tense silence, broken only by Gladio’s growl of resignation before he stomps across the room to the door. The man opens and closes it behind him with ease. Ignis expels an audible, weary sigh. Once certain that Prompto, who continues to whimper with his eyes closed, suffers no damage other than a bruised and swollen cheek, he crosses his arms, slowly sauntering toward the window.

Prompto cannot say he expected any comfort – he was not exactly invited over to the Citadel for tea. He exhales a shuddering breath of his own, groaning from the pain opening his mouth causes. A mucousy rope of blood and saliva pools onto the floor, trickling from the corner of his slightly parted lips.

Prompto leans his head back and closes his eyes. His hands and legs throb painfully from restricted blood flow. The tips of his fingers are icy and numb, and the rest of his body tingles, as if filled with millions of jittering, restless termites. All Prompto can do is sigh in an effort to express his severe discomfort.

_‘The Kingsglaive themselves not only think I’m a Niff terrorist and that I’m involved with the Oracle kidnapping thing…’_

Prompto internally chuckles, for he cannot help but find the ironic amusement in his own predicament.

_‘And they’re not exactly the most open to hearing me out…’_

He continues to mentally deduce, opening a bleary, worn out blue eye to watch the man who continues to stand at the window and look down onto the city below.

_‘Great’_

The door parts again, Gladio returning with a clump of blocky ice wrapped in paper towels and a plastic bag. The crude ice pack had clearly been made in Gladio’s haste, and not carefully handled by infirmary staff that served the royal family.

“You’re going to have to hold the ice to his cheek, Gladio,” Ignis lectures, Gladio palming the wrapped brick of ice harshly against the desk. The sturdiness of both the table and the wrappings around the ice speak volumes, for the table is thankfully undented by his blunt gesture.

“You can try that one again, Iggy, I’m not coddling the Niff’s cheek,”

“Then you are going to have to untie his hands so he may administer the ice himself,” Ignis wearily, though evenly still, explains, eyes narrowed in calm irritation.

“Or he can deal with the decking a mouth like his deserves –“

“Gladio the whole purpose of this affair is to _interrogate_ him –“ Ignis exasperatedly throws his hands in the air before crossing them at his chest.

“We’re interrogating a Niff terrorist, not a little old lady about a lost dog –“

“In order to interrogate someone, they need to be able to _speak_ , no matter who or what the nature of their interrogation surrounds,” Ignis folds his arms and sassily retorts, Gladio threatening to crush the bag in his hand, he grips it so tightly.

“I like the Niffs no more than you, Gladio, but our current duty calls for us to question one, and having a swollen jaw shan’t serve to assist us there, will it?”

Ignis wins the silent battle of wits, for Gladio scoffs after a few seconds of maintained eye contact.

“You’re too soft, Ignis,” Gladio snaps. He reluctantly and heavy handedly unwraps the tight ropes from Prompto’s wrists, the blonde instantly wincing and massaging them. The strain in his shoulders only grows exponentially, now they are no longer torn across the back of the chair. Prompto’s movements are weak. Between the pursuit of having been captured by the Glaives, and the psychological exhaustion of detainment, he is left with ginger, soft movements that threaten to seep him of his remaining energy.

“You try anything and I will end you,” Gladio warns, carelessly tossing the freezing ice pack into the young man’s lap. Prompto says nothing, nearly slamming the ice against his cheeks. His movements are heavy and blocky, the lack of feeling in his arms a natural anesthetic.

Ignis and Gladio turn their heads to observe the stone door as it heavily swings open. Prompto does not turn his own, content to continue nursing his cheek. Ignis bows low, his body nearly folded in half, Gladio respectfully, though not as dutifully, inclined.

“Cut it out, guys, you know better than that,” a soft, but deep voice nearly whispers from Prompto’s left. It is authoritative, but familiar, personal in tone, like the speaker means to issue a command, but to trusted and beloved friends, rather than subordinates. The two men slowly stand upright once more, and the clicking of dress shoes against the floor punctuates the trailing end of the gentle voice.

“Where have you _been_ , Your Highness?!” Ignis almost wildly questions, hands spread out before him.

“Nevermind that – what happened here?!” the voice behind Prompto asks, and he can feel the movement of air as the man most likely raises a hand of his own toward the blonde’s back.

“You – you cannot be serious,” Ignis dully, but disbelievingly states. He grimaces as the approach of the third man sends a fishy, salty stench about the stuffy, contained study –

“ _That’s_ the reason for your tardiness?!”

“Iggy –“ the voice smoothly starts, though one can hear the sense of danger in his voice, as if he _knows_ he has done something wrong.

“You have known of this meeting since yesterday – “

“Iggy – “

“And you leave Insomnia’s borders to _fish_?!” the intimidating, but no less controlled, tone returns to the sandy haired man’s voice, which grows in volume. “You thought we wouldn’t notice, hastily putting on the suit?!”

“I – I promise I can explain – “ Noctis stumbles over his own words, though his eyes grow cloudy with guilt, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

“You are not a _child_ anymore, Noctis!” Ignis roars, and Prompto’s eyes shoot open in fear and disbelief at the name. The continuation of their _‘negotiations’_ awaited the attention of the _King_.

“How about we stop airing out our dirty fucking laundry in front of the _enemy_?!” Gladio angrily pipes up, his voice drowning out the other two.

“Gladio you _know_ you must watch your tongue before the king –“ Ignis attempts to mutter.

“Don’t gimme that _shit_ , Ignis,” Gladio growls, eyes on Noctis in his own anger. “You’re out _fishing_ while Luna is only The Six knows where, and _you’re_ here with a Niff in our custody blathering about formality when this whole entire country is falling apart –“

Prompto’s eyes close once more. He finds the conversation he is present for, but not exactly invited to take part in, is tragic, desperate, raw and highly uncomfortable.

“You wonder why the people place more trust in a corrupt Parliament than in us, the Crown, their own _King_ – “

Noctis opens his mouth to fire back at Gladio, but Ignis holds up a hand to his comrade.

“Your neurotic behavior and language help nothing – “

“I wasn’t fishing, I was at Galdin Quay searching for Luna,” Noctis snaps, still behind Prompto to his left. The black haired man closes his eyes, exhaling deeply. Silence falls between them all, and Prompto is careful to make sure not even the rattle of his breath escapes his lips or nose.

”...My apologies, then,” Ignis bows, and Gladio sneers.

“Save it for another fucking time, we have business to take care of,” Gladio gestured impatiently toward Prompto. “This asshole was caught at the Insomnian border, refusin’ to come quietly unless it meant havin’ an audience with you,”

“He claims to have information regarding Luna's disapperance...” Ignis adds, clearly trying his best to focus on the topic at hand.

"But given he's a Niff, we're not exactly believin' the first word outta his mouth..." Gladio sneers.

“You said on the phone you had someone already,” Noctis tiredly adds, pacing behind the ever silent blonde, running a dry hand through his hair, still salty, damp, and windswept from the lake.

“I’m merely being thorough, Your Majesty. I meant no offense,” Ignis nods.

“Well what the hell’re you waitin’ for, Noct?!” Gladio scoffs, slapping a hand against his leather clad thigh in irritation. He sits upon the window sil, Ignis next to him with his arms folded. “We got an arrest related to the guy's capture after _months_ , and Ignis stopped ‘im from talkin’ so you could hear the words right out of his mouth,”

Noctis chews on his bottom lip, trying to calm his anxious mind to best consider the next course of action; why does the act of questioning a highly wanted terrorist suspect come so difficultly to him?

“Every second you wait to milk every last drop of info outta this prick could be another second of danger for Luna,” Gladio growls, and Prompto, still unable to speak from his sore jaw and exhaustion, shudders once more; he can only pray his ability to speak returns before they execute him, assuming him to be involved in the Oracle plot.

Noctis nods, steeling his shoulders and exhaling deeply.

“Take the ice pack from him, Gladio. We cannot have him unrestrained before the King…” Ignis whispers, and Gladio obliges, Prompto wincing as he is unkindly bound by his wrists once more. Noctis, dressed in a suit the royal color of black, finally emerges from behind Prompto. The blonde can only watch when the grey eyes of the king light up with shock and realization once they meet Prompto’s own. He can only watch the older man’s bearded jaw parts just slightly, the very same eyes beginning to waver about Prompto’s features.

As their expressions meet, Noctis’ taken aback against Prompto’s barely conscious lul, Prompto knows the King will demand his explanation before placing the blade of his sword against his throat.

“The Six be damned…” Noctis chokes from disbelief, Ignis and Gladio sharing a glance with one another at Noctis’ disbelief. The king brings the same salty hands to brush blonde strands out of Prompto’s eyes, to ghost against his bruising skin. “It’s _you_.”

 

* * *

 

**Six Months Prior to Prompto’s Capture**

The ground is slushy and wet. Prompto stops and bring his camera to his eyes, crouching so dangerously low against the mud that he threatens to paint his kneecaps in the muck. A thick, pinkish brown worm wriggles its way into the loosened earth, a black raven eyeing it a mere few feet away. The natural scene is one Prompto cannot help but capture, the fog in the air providing the mournful backdrop that always clung to the circle of life in the foreground. Nature, while beautiful, is never kind.

The raven skillfully plucks the worm into its beak before flying away, and Prompto stands upright, clutching his camera to his chest. The rainy, white sun peeks out from the grey clouds over head that slowly begin to thin into mist. While the heat of August reigned supreme, the sunshine and blue skies had not. While the dense, muggy fog of the last week usually cleared by Prompto’s early evening walk home from work, it is still woefully oppressive during daylight hours.

He welcomes the peculiar weather, however; it had kept Lucians on topics other than Niflheim bashing – until rumors began to surface that Niflheim was behind the fog, manipulating the weather in an attempt to block out the sun and sprout Daemons even within the confines of the wall. His blonde hair garnered the scornful look of strangers, as if the sheen itself emanated sinisterly from him.

The soles of his boots squelch against the dark grey, wet concrete as he returns to the sidewalk. The rubbery noise is oddly satisfying with each step he takes, Prompto beaming as he approaches the storefront of the camera store at which he works. The store itself is situated in Downtown Insomnia, nestled in between a deli owned by Galahdians and a drugstore chain. The urban location usually drew in a constant, eclectic crowd, though news of Atlas’s willingness to have Niffs under his employment poked a leaky hole in business.

The small bell overhead chimes as Prompto walks in through the front door, and he is instantly overwhelmed by the powerful, but familiar metallic smell of developing liquid and 35mm film.

“Wipe that crud off your shoes, boy! Don’t track it in here!” a gravelly voice instantly berates him, the balding, white haired man organizing camera models behind the counter.

“I know, Atlas, I _know_ , I’m doing it now!” Prompto beams at his crotchety boss’ anger, stomping his feet, leaving ornery pieces of grass against the straw door mat.

He lifts a wooden slat and slides behind the counter as well, dropping his camera bag on the recently cleaned glass case and zipping it open excitedly.

“Check out this picture I took on the way here – “ Prompto grins. The only place he could forget the reality of the growing political climate was at work. He brings the view of his camera under the old man’s long, pointed nose, the man frowning at the image before turning back around to the cameras.

“I’ve seen you take better,” he clears his throat before exhaling a nasty smoker’s cough without covering his mouth.

“Gee, thanks,” Prompto rolls his eyes. He places his camera back in his back, slipping it under the counter and out of sight.

“Damn right you oughta thank me,” his harsh, wheezy voice snaps back, Prompto taking out a rag and Windex as he wipes down the counter. “A photography legend like me used to charge for critiques back in the day,”

Prompto sucks his teeth, but smiles as he continues cleaning; he was used to the old man’s abrasiveness, and had quickly grown so when he started working under him nearly a year ago.

“And I wouldn’t waste critiques on just anyone who paid, either. Only the talented,” he adds, Prompto allowing a soft chuckle to escape his lips – always hidden underneath even Atlas’ cruelest words was always the highest praise. Whether the old man exaggerated his feats as a photographer for the Lucian Herald all those years ago, or his photography habit and old age merely left with him reminders of long gone days of grandeur, Prompto could not entirely say. Regardless, the man had a charisma to him that Prompto found invigorating and consuming, and even _endearing_ , although acquired.

“Seriously, kid. I know things may not look great for you Niffs right now –“

Prompto winces. The socially polite term would be Graleans, or Nilfheimans, though the old Lucian man was too stubborn and uninterested in such political nuances to care to change his language.

“ – but once it all calms down again, I don’t have a doubt in the world that the Lucian Herald will give you a job. Just don’t forget who believed in you from the beginning, you hear?!” Atlas assures him, but Prompto merely lets out a sarcastic _"mhm"_.

“But I mean, I’m more Lucian than anything…” he sighs, wiping the same spot with the rag absentmindedly.

“That blonde hair says otherwise, kid,” Atlas grunts, using a screwdriver to begin repairing broken cameras dropped off at the shop by clients.

 “Just because I was _born_ in Gralea – “ Prompto aggravatedly starts, though he is instantly cut off by the dominant conversationalist.

“Yer just sayin’ all this because you’re too young to remember the first Niflheim-Lucian war forty years ago,” Atlas waves his hand before coughing into his elbow. “The way those Niffs treated us had our Lucians women unwillin’ to go beyond the wall ‘cause of the stories of what those old MTs would do to ‘em if they got caught out,” Atlas darkly explains, Prompto shuddering.

“They were mutilatin’ our Glaives out there, committin’ the most heinous war crimes you can imagine. And I got it all on camera,”

Prompto falls silent. He could not argue or disagree with the fact that the Niflheim Empire was hardly known for its humanity.

“They’re _sick_ , Argentum. They use and harvest Darkness and Daemons for warfare – you tell me that ain’t grounds for Lucians wantin’ as little to do with them as possible…” he concludes, Prompto closing his eyes, lost sadly in thought.

“So then why do you think my parents left for here when I was two?!” Prompto slams his rag down on the counter, teeth clenched. “Why is it okay for the only country I know to turn its back on people like me when we ran away from it all, too?” he hisses, Atlas merely shrugging.

“I’ve told you many times already to stop yer bellyachin’, Argentum. You think it’s not right or fair? Then stop bitchin’ to me and start talkin’ to the people with the power to change it,” he bluntly states, knicking his head toward the towering Citadel – the residence of the Royal family and their staff.

“’Least I woulda said that before old Regis kicked it – his son’s good lookin’ enough, but that’s about all he’s got from his dad – none of the strength, the conviction, the _power_ –“

Prompto scoffs under his breath. The King and his royal cabinet are just as Anti-Gralean as the Parliament, the governmental body whose members had no royal ties, put in place to assure the Crown did not abuse its power. The only reason Atlas could say the King had no “conviction” is because the Parliament had taken public favor. Their willingness to enact anti-Nifhleim decrees and limitations that affected law abiding, Gralean Lucians citizens did well to mesh with the reactionary tastes of a scared and terrified public.

While King Noctis had issued many anti-Empire public statements in his two year reign, Titus Drautos, senior member of the Parliament, had done more to quench the bloodthirsty wishes of the Lucian people.

Prompto understood the fear; Niflheim had been erecting strange, powerful bases around Eos as of late, their purposes and meaning unknown. The multiple sightings of new MT units across the Lucian countryside had also drummed up support for the strengthening of the borders and the wall – these things were all to be understood.

Yet Drautos promised more extreme anti-Empire measures where the Crown had not, thus leaving the average Lucian citizen to give Parliament higher approval ratings than the King.

“They’re all pretty awful, to be honest…” Prompto sighs, jumping as Atlas hits him on his exposed arm with a glossy flyer. The blonde snatches it from the old man’s hand, rubbing his bicep, brow furrowed.

_Photographers of Lucis!_

_Grab your cameras!_

_Submit a portfolio of photos to the Lucian Herald_

_And three talented photographers shall be chosen_

_To serve as an official royal photographer_

**_At the Royal Celebration of_ **

**_The Thirtieth Birthday_ **

**_Of Beloved King_ **

**_Noctis Lucis Caelum_ **

_To take place at the Citadel_

_August 30 th._

_Photographers will have the once in a lifetime opportunity_

_To partake in the company of Insomnia’s elite_

_Whilst also bolstering their portfolio_

_With official work for the Crown_

_Entry details on the back as follows_

 

“It just _reeks_ of a PR attempt,” Atlas sneers, Prompto re-reading the flyer. “But an advantageous one for you to get a word in to the King himself edgewise,”

“Yeah, but – “ Prompto sighs, his blood pumping in his ears from excitement. “You really think they’re gonna let a Gralean like me win a chance to go to King Noctis’ house and take pictures of him, when they won’t even hire us?”

“I’m just givin’ you the flyer, kid, it’s up to you what the hell you do with it,” Atlas shrugs, Prompto licking his lips and mulling it all over mentally before he watches the old man place a handful of cameras into a crate.

“…What’re you doin’ with those?” Prompto quietly wonders, looking into the content of the box with slightly raised eyebrows.

“New decree came in last week – can’t sell any Niff made electronics on account they may be bugged –“

“But – but Gralean cameras are some of the best in all of Eos…” Prompto whispers, blinking softly. Atlas’ shop was the only camera shop in Lucis that sold such coveted, high end models, both modern and vintage. Politics aside, the exclusivity of them made them few in number, and thus highly sought and incredibly rare.

 “Doesn’t matter, kid – I could get my whole joint shut down if someone tips ‘em off or ole Nocty comes in himself and sees these on the shelf. And it wouldn’t bode well for _your_ blonde ass, either,” he adds, Prompto watching with silent sadness as the man tosses the final one into the crate before half-assedly placing the wooden top upon it, rubbing his lower back.

“I’m goin’ out for a smoke, you hear?” he grunts, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the counter before slowly sauntering toward the back exit, whistling.

The blonde checks behind his shoulder multiple times before snatching a camera from the crate, grateful that the old man saw little use in taking meticulous inventory (“You can do that shit if you want, it’s boring and I ain’t ever needed to do it on a daily basis all this time, so why start now?!”). He slips the apparatus in his bag, along with the flyer, his eyes narrowing at the small text on the back reading, _‘Graleans Need Not Enter’_.

 _‘Maybe we don’t need to…’_ Prompto whispers to himself, putting the flyer in his bag as well. _‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it anyway.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously Noctis knows Prompto from somewhere. The story goes back in time and will demonstrate how he knows Prompto, then it will meet back up to the present with the interrogation, where the story will continue. Also I totally got Good Cop/Bad Cop goin' on and I just kinda rolled with it I didn't even fight it to be honest. There will be a chapter detailing Noctis' perspective on everything, by the way. 
> 
> I'm trying to make this shorter than lessons. Hopefully everyone's enjoying it so far. Just to make sure it's clear, Noctis is thirty, Prompto is twenty so while it will be Promptis, there is that age gap.


	3. The New King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes further back in time to when Noctis was twenty eight, just after his father's passing.

**Two Years Prior to Prompto's Capture**

When three solid knocks sound on the other side of his bedroom door, Noctis finally retracts his fingers from their rigid grip in his black hair. His breath shudders its way through his lips, each skip in his exhale a sharpness against his scratchy throat. Ignis turns the ornate golden handle without awaiting Noctis’ approval. Sliding soundlessly into the large bedroom, Ignis sighs wearily before addressing the figure slumped on the end of the kingly bed.

“This is the fourth time I have sent for you without response. I hope you forgive my tactless, though necessary, intrusion,” Ignis’ calm voice does not betray his own sense of mourning. Rarely did the advisor allow for emotion to compromise the sense of impartialness his job requires.

“It’s fine,” Noctis’ voice is entirely devoid of bass, for all that sounds of his dry voice is a raspy croak. Ignis, who had known Noctis so intimately since their ages were in the single digits, knows it is anything but. He nearly loses sight of Noctis, for the black of his suit meshes with the darkness of his bedroom. The room itself is cloaked in shadows cast by bleary grey light that filters in through a large window. The velvet black of his blanket creases under Noctis’ body weight, his frilled silver pillows dented from hours of pressure applied by his cheek.

The thick gold leaf picture frames of the paintings that adorn the walls cast sinister shadows against the black and gold fleur de lis wallpaper. Noctis licks his lips. Ignis folds his arms, albeit patiently, assuming the man makes the motion from an intention to speak. He says nothing, however. His shoulders slump, his head hanging against his chest.

“Have you not shaved since the dresser saw you two days ago?!” Ignis questions the man incredulously, catching a glimpse of the short, greyish whiskers that border the man’s jaw. Noctis closes his eyes before weightily shaking his head no.

“Noct, the funeral is to be televised and documented in the papers, you know –” Ignis attempts to lecture, but he cuts himself off once he meets the redness in his grey eyes; Noctis had clearly spent the entire morning crying.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” is all Ignis can whisper, his shoulders descending with his soft, empathetic sigh.

The prince had been by his father’s side when he finally passed at the ironically youthful age of fifty three. The burden of the Wall and the Crystal had different aging effects on the Kings and Queens of Lucis. Where some had been able to endure a reign nearly seven decades in length, others in the line had succumbed to the depletive effects of such power within a mere two or three. His father had been one such unfortunate king.

Many of the Glaives and servants about the castle commented on Noctis’ conduct as a prince. The twenty eight year old, much to the bane of Ignis’ easily triggered disapproval, could be described as immature, aloof, and yet humorously sarcastic and playful. Noctis, while far from dumb, had left many warily doubtful of his ability to take on the crown of King in the weeks leading up to his father’s death. Where surely the entire kingdom, and even the world, bemoaned the loss of King Regis, none had done so with such egregious trauma as his son.

Almost like a flash of fate, Ignis, who had stood in the doorway, hands clasped together against his torso, watched, in a silence matching Noctis’, as the childish glint in the prince’s eyes disappeared, Noctis’ stroking his father’s rigid, cold hand, cheeks streaked in a river of quiet tears.

Ignis bowed his head, both out of respect, but also an inability to observe the scene any further. Clarus asked Noctis what he wished to do with the ring. The lack of response left the bald man with no choice but to take his leave, and Ignis turned to do much the same –

“Stay, please – _Iggy_ …” Noctis had plead through his soft, almost soundless sob. Ignis nodded. His heart was wrenched both by the tragedy of the situation, but also the honor of having earned such deep, trusting affections of the very same man he threatened to nag into an early grave of his own. Gladio, eyes puffy and red themselves, knocked twice before inviting himself in. He shared a silent, agonizing look with the three men, closing his eyes once meeting the peaceful figure of Regis in bed. He slipped through the door, closing it with a light snap. He stood watch outside the door until the morning, dutiful as any King’s shield should be.

The night of Regis’ passing had been the last time either Ignis or Gladio had seen Noctis. While the advisor had understood the need to leave the man to mourn in his own privacy, the unspoken reality of his ascension as King had to be addressed sooner rather than later.

“For Shiva’s fuckin’ sake, let it wait until after the old man’s burial, Iggy,” Gladio had shaken his head, whispering into the man’s ear after breakfast. The week of hiding on Noctis’ part had been long enough of a wait; the world could not cease to spin, and nor could the sun cease to rise. Time means to continue, whether Noctis or Ignis or Gladio were ready or not.

“I need to be barbered, I guess…” Noctis whispers, but Ignis shakes his head, drawing the thick black curtains from the windows.

“We haven’t the time,” Ignis hastily informs him, and Noctis brings an arm to shield himself from the blinding white of the sun. “The procession is waiting, Noct.”

“But – how – how do I look –“ Noctis whispers, rubbing his eyes. Ignis folds his arms, narrowing his own. The royal hairdressers had often kept Noctis so well-groomed that he had never seen Noctis with even a ghost of stubble. On an average day, he would say the bearded look _suited_ the man, and did much to underscore the kingly look that shines through the troubled darkness in his eyes.

Yet Ignis knew the press, knew the world.  Even though the look was fitting, he knew tabloids would spin the seclusion of his grief into a public spectacle. _Exclusive Photos of Mourning Prince – Is The Beard a Ploy to Obscure the Prince’s Identity?_ And assuredly a dozen other headlines would pepper the covers of the papers.

“You look quite nice, all things considered,” Ignis starts, meaning his statement. Although, his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the nostrils of his nose flakey and chapped from constant blowing, and his skin is ghostly white, not having seen natural light in some time. “Though you must try your hardest to hide your tears, for the whole event will be televised.

Ignis doesn’t know which part of the sentence exactly causes Noctis to frown and furrow his brow, but the two leave the room for the courtyard in silence.

* * *

 

The procession lasted nearly six hours. The world’s finest, as well as many Lucian civilians, flooded the courtyard of the Citadel so compactly, that clusters of Glaives were stationed about the boundaries of the crowd per every twenty or so feet.

It was an honor to see his father so loved.

The casket bearing him, made of black granite and gold inlay, was slung upon the shoulders of six of Insomnia’s strongest Glaives, Gladio among them. Noctis trailed silently behind the capsule, Lucian monks singing melancholy songs of mourning in Ancient Lucian to The Six above.

The Prince himself garnered little attention from the press, much to Ignis’ utter shock; movie stars and singers had made a point of dramatically weeping and lamenting, the fickle and shallow nature of the paparazzi drawing their cameras to their bombastic actions instead.

Noctis, overwhelmed with so many dozens of feelings, none of which are positive, does not mind the turn of attention – though he would be sure to mentally note the personalities to Ignis and have them banned from any future events held at the Citadel.

“You cannot delegitimize their methods of grieving, Noct,” Ignis attempted to play Devil’s advocate, though he did so through admittedly hissed teeth; teetering the line of dramatic theatrics and genuine sorrow was a difficult practice even many of Eos’ most allegedly talented actors and actresses had not yet perfected.

Much to Noctis’ relief, many of the unwanted guests opted to forego the reception that followed, given the quieter, more reserved nature of the banquet hall. The press had been barred from entering, the reception a private gathering for friends, family, royals, and members of Parliament.

Ignis can only find it all so cruelly ironic that black, the color of mourning throughout all Eos, should be the very one adopted as the color of Lucian royals.

“Perhaps the adoption of black is why such tragedy constantly befalls us,” Ignis dryly comments by Noctis’ side, who purses his lips as he sips on a second glass of bitter, deep red wine. Noctis swallows the dry liquid with an _“ah”,_ and namely not one of refreshment. If there is one thing about the history of Lucis Noctis could say he could make heads or tails of, it was rather that the Lucis Caelum line had adopted the color of black _because_ of the constant tragedy – not the other way around.

Such assumptions were not fair, Noctis muses, his lips still a thin line as he stands in the corner of the royal banquet hall, arms folded. Everyone dies eventually – far be it from him to declare such a sad truth for the Caelum line, and the Caelum line alone.

“I imagine you’re grateful no one has questioned you about your ascension to the throne,” Ignis mutters from the corner of his mouth, and Noctis nods curtly. The already introspective and rather reserved man was one of few words on even better days, let alone on dreary ones as these.

“I suppose it would be tacky to approach you about such matters at an event like this,” Ignis adds, and the two of them bring their gazes to Regis, dressed in his raiment, arrest in his coffin, sword gripped in his hands. Visitors linger silently around the man, Gladio standing watch with his hands clasped behind his back. Noctis gives him a short wave from across the room, followed by a sad, small smile. Rain begins to patter upon the glass window panes. The salmon-pinkish marble walls reflect the warm yellow of the glowing chandeliers, and Noctis angles his head upward. The high ceilings are painted with soft, warm frescos, ancient scenes of Astrals and Lucian Kings swirling together in the well restored light of Heaven. Swaths of Daemons recoil, their corrupted, unsightly bodies pierced by the glow of divinity. The judgmental eyes of the Lucian kings glare down at Noctis in return. How long until his father, until he himself, would be added to the mural?

The voices of the hundred or so people in the room drown out the harsh pattering of the rain. He had endured the condolences of many since the procession that morning, the guests content to mingle amongst themselves.

“Prince Noctis! I’m terribly sorry I have not yet been available to offer my sincerest regret at the loss of your father,” a deep voice sounds from behind the man. Noctis turns around swiftly, his eyes slightly clouded with the buzz of wine. A broad shouldered, stocky man stands before him, sandy brown hair cut short. His square face and jaw are recently shaven, unlike that of the prince, his gold and black robes of the Lucian Parliament finely pressed and luminous.

“Thank you, Drautos,” Noctis clears his throat, taking the man’s thick hand in a firm, genuine handshake of gratitude. The older man nods, smacking his lips solemnly at Noctis’ clear state of deflation. Ignis takes his silent leave, gracefully headed toward Gladio.

“I suppose you and your cabinet have not yet had talks about when you assume the crown? We in Parliament need to know how to presume, even in the face of tragedy,” Drautos immediately elicits a narrow eyed glare from Noctis, who has little desire to discuss politics, despite the necessity of the topic.

“Ignis and I have plans to begin those talks on Monday, Titus,” Noctis grunts, chasing his roughly uttered words with the bitterness of the Merlot he still nurses. Drautos, who does not mistake the edge in his soon-to-be-king’s voice for a fluke, abstains from retorting with a sassiness of his own. He grins, eyebrows raised in slight shock at the prince’s tone.

“I guess all we can do is hope that the Niffs save any kind of scheming for _Monday_ , eh?” Drautos’ capability of concealing his displeasure at Noctis’ mood crumbles under the desire to sate his temper. Drautos’ green eyes glitter with a satisfied, ornery mirth as Noctis narrows his own grey ones, his thin lips stained a fuchsia from his drink.

“But still, I mean no offense, Your Highness. I understand you must first deal with the weight on your heart before you can think of such things,”

“I appreciate your sympathy,” Noctis stonily nods. He locks eyes with Gladio from across the room, who holds up a hand to stop Ignis mid-sentence, the smile sliding from his face; the two men, confidants and friends of Noctis’ since childhood, could tell by the storm of emotions in his eyes alone what the young man was typically feeling.

“I will suggest to the members of Parliament the naming of December the Seventeenth as being henceforth a national day of mourning in honor of the loss of His Majesty,” Noctis only half hears Drautos’ skillfully waxed poetic, for the younger of the two men watches as Gladio casually, but somewhat urgently, pushes his way to the crowd to rescue the prince from the unpleasant chat. “Though on _Monday_ , of course,”

Noctis’ shoulders rise as he draws a sharp breath inward, his brow furrowing as he parts his lips to retort unkindly –

“Amicitia,” Drautos bows respectfully to the Shield, who nods and offers Drautos a firm handshake as well. “Nice to see you, though not as nice as it could be, considering the circumstances for our meeting. I imagine your father, Clarus, is in shreds?”

“Yeah, dad’s not taken the passing of King Regis very well. He’s currently dealing with the Caelum estate as we speak, which is why he couldn’t be here for the ceremony. His Majesty’s presence will be missed,” Gladio crosses his arms, his deep voice drawling with a melodic sadness. “Indeed. It’s a shame. The Prince’s father passed all too young, a waste of a great man, leader, and king. Truly a squandering of a valuable life,” Drautos shakes his head, Noctis silent. “For as brilliant as the man was, I always told him his attempts at maintaining neutrality with Niflheim would lead him to an early grave. Rather than give Parliament the go ahead to declare war and strike first, he made the choice to play coy with the Niffs, and allow the ring to sap him to the very end, keeping that wall up,”

Noctis’ hand is nearly as red as his wine, he grips his glass so harshly. Drautos, however, is entirely too engrossed in his own monologue to read the tone of the conversation.

“We had our disagreements, Regis and I. While I respect him, I can only see what era the son ushers in for Lucis. If you’ll excuse my abrupt departure, Amicitia – Your Majesty,” Drautos nods, and Noctis is thankful that the other ends the conversation before Noctis did so himself in a manner one would not have considered very kingly.

Once Drautos is far enough into the crowd to be sufficiently out of earshot, Noctis slams his glass against the surface of a round table by which he stands, clenching both his fists and his teeth.

“ _I hate him_ ,” Noctis hisses.

“I know, kiddo…” Gladio mumbles, folding his arms and observing Noctis with wavering, deep brown eyes. The use of the word ‘kiddo’ to placate Noctis’ swelling bad moods was one twenty years too engrained to cease. Noctis, groomed to one day inherit the Kingdom of Lucis, had naturally known the members of both Parliament and the Royal Court since before he had lost all of his baby teeth. Albeit, aloof and lackadaisical, Noctis considered himself to be far from foolish. Where his father had tried his best to shield Noctis from the tumultuous nature of his relationship with the governmental figure, his son had quickly caught on to their power struggle.

Between hushed conversations and body language, the prince had not even been in the double digits in age before he rightfully assumed their cordial interactions disguised a deep seated distrust from Regis’ perspective, and a sense of loathing from Drautos’. Where Drautos could never overstep any boundaries, due to the overwhelming support Regis garnered from both Parliament and his people, (as well as his rightfully endowed, totalitarian control as king), he houses instead a seething sense of resentment, even to the man’s death bed.

His interactions with Noctis, were always friendly enough, but superficial. There were times when, even at nine years old, Noctis wondered if the man’s watchful gaze had not been scanning him for a weakness, as a means to usurp control of the crown before Noctis could ever rightfully claim it.

Such was the law of the land, that should the royal house die without any rightful heirs or descendants to inherit the throne, power would have no choice but to be relinquished unto the Parliament in its entirety.

“You better pick a broad and pump out some kids soon, Noct, or else he’ll be wearin’ your crown…” Gladio smirks, shaking his head, eyes darted in the direction in which Titus disappeared.

Noctis, who, at twenty eight years old, had thus far given no indication to the public that he is in the process of courting, was all that stood between the rule and the legacy of his bloodline. The Oracle, Lady Lunafreya and Princess of Tenebrae, would certainly be his first pick; in addition to their partnership as King of Lucis and Oracle, the two were very close, having been so since childhood.

Noctis rubs his forehead wearily at the implication of heirs. The private prince suspected Ignis and Gladio had silently theorized the reasoning as to why the handsome king-in-waiting had never dated a woman, or even made mention of having interest in one. Ignis, ever attentive and brilliantly observant, had probably caught onto Noctis’ homosexuality at some point in the last sixteen years. Gladio, brazen and blunt, was also not one easily tricked. Yet the youngest of the three men never made any public or outward admissions – even to himself.

“The Niff Emperor sent some flowers by the way,” Gladio grunts, and Noctis rubs his eyes; where Lucis had many enemies beyond the wall, he often forgot to entertain thoughts of them, given the enemies he feared within his own kingdom. “Well, flowers and a telegraph saying sorry they couldn’t make it, and may Regis rest in peace,”

Noctis shakes his head, grabbing his wine glass from off the table and downing the remainder of the liquid. He knows Niflheim hardly mourns his father. He also knows the availability to represent at his father’s funeral could have been made had they truly desired it. He is also certain that they wish anything upon the Caelum line but peace.

But Noctis sighs, his vision blurring with a soft, teary smile as a beautiful blonde woman in white approaches him. He would deal with it all come Monday.

* * *

 

“You ought to lose the beard, Noct,” Ignis sighs at breakfast the following Monday morning. The other man continues chewing the rough skin and pulp of the golden delicious apple he holds in one hand, and his eyes scan the headline of the newspaper he holds in the other.

_Kingsglaive Successfully Thwarts Niff Lucian Plot to Bomb Insomnian Subway System._

_A division of the elite Kingsglaive is being heralded as heroes for their role in uncovering a terrorist plot Sunday night. Nineteen year old Reinhold Schmidt, a Lucian citizen born to an Insomnian mother and a Gralean father, and a student of economics at the University of Insomnia, is in royal custody under the alleged suspicion of being involved in a plot to detonate various bombs in the Insomnian subway system. Dozens of bombs and firearms were seized at the Niflheiman’s apartment late Sunday night, his roommates – Twenty one year old Tiberius Flavus of Galahad, and twenty three year old Jens Loewe of Gralea, were also arrested at the scene. The Lucian Herald reached out to representatives of the Crown for comment. King Noctis was unavailable at the time of the article’s publishing._

“I’m keeping the beard. I like the look,” Noctis retorts back, placing the newspaper upon the table. He takes another deafening bite of the apple, chewing unceremoniously. Ignis is grateful that traces of the man’s sense of humor slowly begin to return after the near month of brooding. “Luna said she liked it too. Said it makes me look more grown up,”

Ignis sighs, deciding not to fight the issue further; whatever gets him through his first official day as King of Lucis.

“But then she said it reminded her of dad, which – _gee_ , that sure sets the mood, right?” Noctis attempts to smile, to pretend as if it is all just another day as prince, that Regis freshens up in his quarters before joining them at the table, and as if tensions with Niflheim and its people do not stagger ever higher with each passing day. The attempt is futile, for Ignis instantly deciphers the anxiety and panic in the wayward king’s eyes.

“Well if you’re not going to shave your beard, then must we continue to skirt around the article on the front page as if we don’t see it?”

“I do see it,” Noctis places the paper down, tossing his head back to look up at Ignis.

“…Well, I have set aside a segment of time after lunch for you to be briefed by the very Glaive unit that thwarted the plot,” Ignis explains, peering at Noctis over his glasses.

“Right, that’s fine,” the younger man consents, albeit rather forcefully. Bleary grey light filters into the small, stone walled breakfast nook, the royal dining room too large to warrant use by only Noctis and Ignis this morning. Fat white flakes of snow billow lazily downward, and Ignis follows the quivering of Noctis’ eyes as he watches the snow swirl about. The smoldering remnants of the fire started by a chamber maid need rekindling. Noctis visibly jumps, the pointed silence broken by the loud _pop_ of a smokey log as it cracks.

“Have you given any thought about the punishment that is to be enacted on the accused?”

“What thought is there to give, Iggy? That’s the role of the court –“

“Headed and presided by your _very_ cabinet, Noctis.” Ignis immediately retorts back, Noctis closing his eyes solemnly.

“I still have to meet with the Glaives and get all the details of the situation, just – just give me time – this afternoon to uh – sort everything out…” Noctis wearily tips four heaving spoons of sugar into a piping mug of black tea.

“Well you know what Parliament would suggest you do, Noct –“

“I don’t care what they suggest, it doesn’t seem right, Ignis,” Noctis holds out a hand in finality, still stirring his tea. “My father ruled thirty long years without the need for execution – “

“And your father’s reign has sadly come to an end, Noct. You cannot ride on his coat tails forever,”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!” Noctis snaps, his lips curled around the porcelain edge of the teacup.

“I mean that the people of Lucis are going to see your ascension as a new era, a vehicle for _change_ – in order to usher in a successful transition, you must establish yourself immediately – do not waffle in inaction, make your presence clear, and distinguished from that of your father – Noct, are you _listening_?!” Ignis grows increasingly more frantic, for Noctis rises from his stool, tossing his teaspoon against the wooden table.

“So what do you say I do?! Behead people before the Citadel to appease a corrupt government and a panicked people?!” Noctis aggressively proposes, running his fingers through his long hair. Ignis frowns, his eyes lingering on an isolated set of silvery grey strands that plague his otherwise entirely jet black crown.

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Ignis massages his forehead with his hand, resigned by the conversation. Noctis scoffs, leaning his shoulder against the cold, smooth wall. “I am merely suggesting, as your advisor, that you distinguish yourself from your father’s neutrality – sooner rather than later. The passing of your father leaves the throne figuratively vacant. It would be foolish to assume that Niflheim will not see the gap in reign as a chance to test your resolve. Glaives on the Lucian-Gralean border are alleging the erection of large structural facilities of an unknown purpose –“

“Does the public know this?!” Noctis wonders, eyes angled in thought at the floor.

“No, but it will only be a matter of time before they do. The people of Lucis will need their fears of invasion quelled, Your Highness. Tensions are rising between our nations, tensions that wore your father so thin, he took them to his grave,”

“I spoke to Luna yesterday about taking a joint, week-long trip around Lucis to make a dent in the Daemon population threatening those beyond the wall,” Noctis subconsciously massages the ring on his finger. Should luck favor him, it would be decades before their effects would begin to sap him of his vitality.

“A capital idea, Noctis. But I would not suggest you leave Insomnia so soon into your reign. Not without addressing the concerns of the public regarding the actions of Niflheim,”

“Right, alright,” Noctis concedes, breathless and overwhelmed.

“Not to mention Drautos will very much be paying attention to how you pan out as a leader –“

“ _Le_ t him pay attention,” Noctis snarls, grabbing his black suit jacket and slinging it over his shoulders. “What do I care what he thinks?!”

“Because he is head of _Parliament_ , Noct, with a distinct eye on _your_ throne…”

“Thank The Six I have the power to make sure that’s _not_ the case, right?!”

“The only thing that would bode more poorly for your approval ratings as king than inaction, would be the immediate purging of the only voice the people have ungoverned by the crown,”

“Just _how_ tyrannical and dictatorial should I _be_ , Ignis?!” Noctis cannot help but laugh, despite finding the situation less than humorous. “How much is _too_ totalitarian, huh? Do I space out the beheadings to every other day…? Or should I just save it for the _weekend_?” Noctis sarcastically continues to rant as he walks down the hall, although Ignis remains in the nook. He sighs, swiping his glasses from his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even as the man approaches thirty, as grey hairs invade his scalp and tragedy and stress wear him ragged, there is no mistaking the permanent essence of his rebellious youth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the order of the story making sense so far? It's not chronological. I wanted to be a bit experimental in both narration as well as in story telling chronology. Hopefully everyone's still enjoying this! Next chapter goes back to Prompto, how they know each other, etc.
> 
> Also I'm gearing up for some major stuff. Work is coming to an end in three weeks. Then I'm gonna be outta the country for most of the summer. Then I'm starting a PhD in the fall and I'm dealing with my husbands emigration junk and we have to move for the PhD program. So slowly but surely, I may disappear off the face of the planet. I wanna finish lessons before I do tho.


	4. Gralean Blonde

**Six Months Prior To Prompto's Capture**

“I’m sorry, Mr. Argentum, I’m afraid I’ve emailed all of my contacts in the Financial Aid and Admissions offices, and matriculation for Fall Semester is limited to ethnic Lucian citizens only,”

Prompto bows his head in resignation. His arms are tense against the wooden arms of the chair in which he sits, his forearms taut, his hands clenching a heaving manila folder of paperwork. Paperwork that the young man had filled out in a distinct attempt to retaliate against the very predicament he currently tries to parse. His black Lucian passport peeks out from over top of the folder in an attempt to silently cry out to the bureaucrat across from him.

“I’ll have you know the College of Art and Design absolutely _adored_ your portfolio. I suggest you reapply when political tensions between our two nations lessen, for I have no doubt the offices will be able to make a more favorable decision given the breadth of your talent.”

The woman, middle aged, black haired – _naturally_ – frowning, seems genuinely hurt as she eyes Prompto as he sits there, but final on the matter. He cannot say he awaited any different of an outcome. The decree issued by Parliament earlier that winter had stressed the importance of prioritizing Lucians for what little competitive spots for university were open. The University of Insomnia bore a reputation of both great prestige and high desirability, what with the Crown City being the most prosperous, bustling, and safe city in Eos.

Where he was certain that his status as a law abiding Lucian citizen would have _assuredly_ fulfilled such a requirement, his third day of being shepherded from office to office on the school’s expansive campus proves him wrong. He swallows what little bit of saliva pools in his dry mouth, all the moisture in his body instead gathering in his eyes. He hoists his frame from the uncomfortable wooden chair as he nods. His body is tinglingly numb as he stands, and he avoids eye contact as he leaves the office as quickly as he can.

As unthinkable as many would have found it before the passing of Regis, nearly the entirety of campus is devoid of international students. Although the decree had meant specifically to filter and target students of Niflheim origin, parents and students of other lands grew worried, and pulled out of classes during summer break. Therefore his blonde hair marks him as _an other_ , a target, and he garners the long-lived stares of the freshmen he passes as they shuffle into the dorms for move in week.

The early August sun rests at the highest point of the cloudless blue sky, pounding down on every exposed inch of Prompto’s skin. He continues to pick up his hastened pace, even as he begins to sweat and pant, his flesh a blistering red under the sun’s constant scrutiny.

The sharp edges of the folder are a nasty mingling of peach and black, the sweat and dirt it collects from resting against the crook of its arm permanently staining it. His own body does not escape without any miring of its own, for the documents dig lines into his sensitive, shining skin.

The only reason his application made it so far into the selection process must have been because the initial committee must have missed his Gralean birth certificate in his papers. Where his passport and nationality boasted Lucis, however, he had hoped in a faint glimmer of luck, that an exception could be made.

He slicks a visible wave of sweat off his forehead as he descends into the musky underground subway station. A cluster of three or four freshmen, obviously from outside of Insomnia, what with their UI tank tops, whisper to one another and scoot away from him. Prompto rolls his eyes. A Gralean tourist to the country had attempted to detonate a small Magitek bomb on a bus earlier that June. The thwarted attempt and half-assed condemnation to the Crown from the Niflheim Chancellor still ensured an uncomfortable ride of stares and whispers for Prompto whenever he needed to rely on public transportation.

The screech of the brakes against the metal tracks deafens him, and he grips the folder tight against his chest as the wind of the rushing train blows air about the entire tunnel. He wastes no time in stepping onto an empty carriage, slamming the folder into a grimy seat next to him. He stares deadpan at the row of seats across from him. His eyes, like his internal monologue, are focused on nothing in particular. The rushing of the train swings the carriage back and forth. Light skips into the cart in sporadic flashes as the train emerges above ground, racing atop an elevated track that looks down below the streets of Lucis.

A cool voice signals an approaching stop, and a bell chimes as doors part, business men and women forcing one another onto the train without reservation, clearly desperate to put as much distance from their jobs and themselves as possible. He knows without looking that a couple of young professionals discuss his presence despite the seven or so seats between them, and the roaring of the subway. The doors connecting to another carriage part, and an officer of the Insomnian Metropolitan Police slowly saunters in, lingering toward the front of the cabin.

Many busses and trains had an officer on duty during peak times given the political climate, at the behest of King Noctis and Parliament.

Not a doubt exists in Prompto’s mind that the officer in his car is beyond coincidence. He watches as the professionals rush into the other carriage as he pulls out his phone. The young man had cut into his shift at the camera shop in order to meet with the aid officer, though the negativity of his verdict left him with more time than which he had originally reckoned.

He jumps up and waits by the doors as soon as the train halts at his stop, though not before whispering a _‘have a nice day’_ to the officer, the only other occupant. The officer, much to his surprise, nods back, and waves at him with a smile.

He strides past heaving crowds as they bustle through the busy streets, making his way quickly to the street housing Atlas’ camera shop. He cannot help but instinctively look in the window as he walks past. Atlas shoots his arms in the air in a shrug as Prompto keeps going, Prompto silently mouthing _‘I’ll be right back!’_ in response, and he cannot help but smile. He walks into the Galahdian Deli next to his job, and instantly the heady smells of cardamom and cayenne pepper fill his nose. He wrinkles it, wiping his eyes, waving silently at the man behind the counter. He waves back, dancing to the loud Galahdian music booming through the speakers on the walls. Prompto’s body tingles on beat with each rhythmic strum of sitar and drum, and he cannot help but instinctively bob his head as he grabs a tube of aloe cream off the shelf.

He pays for it, nodding at the still jamming man before wasting no further time in walking into work.

“Shiva’s _tits_ , you smell like one of them!” Atlas pinches his nose and waves his hand before pointing toward the deli next door. “Like Curried Cactuar and _shit_!”

“Okay, don’t be so dramatic…” Prompto raises his eyebrows, tossing the lotion’s packaging and squeezing a generous helping into his hands. “I was over there for two minutes _tops_ …”

“Speakin’ of _shit_ , you _look_ like shit, the hell happened to you?! You get into a tomato fight or somethin’?!” the vulgar old man asks before descending into yet another coughing fit.

“Spent all day _runnin’_ around, gathering documents and pics for my portfolio,” Prompto explains with a mock cheeriness. He places his documents and lotion into his private cubby behind the counter before leaning against the back work surface with the palms of his hands.

“Right, you wanted to start school, I remember – how’d that go?!” Atlas asks, placing a thick pair of glasses on his face before he gets to work disassembling a large television camera. “And get your greasy ass off my work top!” he additionally snaps.

“ _Well_ …” Prompto starts, eyebrows raised as he lifts his hands in innocence. “Apparently _King Noctis_ signed that new decree Parliament placed before the court. The one that prevents students from Niflheim from attending uni here until they _‘get a handle on the political situation’_?” Prompto rolls his eyes, using air quotes for the last statement.

“So?! What’s the problem? You’re Lucian, ain’t ya?!”

“By _nationality_ , yeah…” Prompto cannot help but let the hurt and disappointment filter into his voice. Atlas stops his work on the camera to take out a pouch of tobacco and a rolling paper, getting to work on assembling a new cigarette.

“ _Oh_ , I get it…it’s cause you’re a Niff by birth, right?!” Atlas crudely deduces, Prompto having known the man for so long that he doesn’t bother wincing at the derogatory term.

“Bingo…?” Prompto’s voice nearly cracks into a question as he attempts to playfully affirm his suspicion, though his hurt gets the best of him.

“You ever thought’ve just _dyein’ your hair_ , kid?!” Atlas raises a skeptical eyebrow, his voice deep with disbelief as he poses the question. Prompto smirks as he bends his knees, swiping up the glasses and picking up where Atlas left off on the camera.

“Come on, man, _seriously_?! That was the _first_ thing I tried when I got bullied for a while in middle school…”

Atlas grunts, handing Prompto a screwdriver before slipping his thin cigarette into his mouth.

“But even with my hair being light, the grade of it, it –  it just doesn’t take to hair dye well. And it’s not like I can dye my birth certificate! Apparently being in Insomnia and being a Lucian citizen since I was two just isn’t _enough_! Plus, my dad nearly _beat me_ into the carpet for it a few years ago, sayin’ _I shouldn’t be ashamed of who I am, or where I come from_ …” the high pitched sarcasm returns as he imitates his father, and a silent handful of seconds pass between them as Prompto continues his tinkering.

“Well better for me, eh?! Means I get to keep ya a while longer. Didn’t think I needed the extra help around here, to be honest. Was just usin’ ya as a tax break. But I think yer good enough to stay for good if you want,” Atlas explains, though he frowns slightly as Prompto doesn’t reply, clearly lost in thought.

“Look, you give any thought to that flyer I gave you last week?! This whole school thing could be just another thing you bitch to the King about when you got ‘im in a corner at his own damn party!”

“Uh, _Atlas_? Something tells me if I can’t go to college, I definitely won’t be able to photograph his party as a _Niff_ ,” he spits, Atlas waving a hand at him.

“What’d I tell you about sparing me the whining?! Do it or don’t kid, don’t pussyfoot around – “

But Atlas stops mid-sentence, Prompto grinning as he slams his papers upon the counter, rifling quickly through them.

“You still have that laminator?!”

“Yeah…? Why?!”

“’Cause I think I’ve got my opening!” Prompto nods, bending the spine of his passport open, scrutinizing the first page heavily. “You’re _right_ , you know…” Prompto starts, wiggling his hips back and forth in excitement. “I can’t dye my hair, but I haven’t tried _‘dyeing’_ my papers…”

“Kid the admissions office already knows what you look like, you numbskull –“

“No no no! Not for that!” Prompto slams the wrinkled birthday flyer onto the glass counter. “How can they turn a Niff down if I’m not one in the first place?!” Prompto beams. Atlas looks down at the paper and tisks before bringing his eyes up to the blonde and shaking his head.

“And then you wonder why we think you Niffs are sneaky old bastards,” he snaps, but the devilish smile in his own eyes betrays him. He claps Prompto twice on the shoulder, who winces from the stinging pain of his tingling sunburn.

“Goin’ out for a smoke. Can’t see you committin’ fraud in my own shop, then I’m liable.”

“Check this out…” Prompto whispers, waving Atlas over as he returns from his smoke in the alleyway. Carefully inserted into his passport is a meticulously doctored photo page.

_Name: Adrian Colonne Castitatis_

_Birthday: October 24th_

_Nationality: Lucian_

_Birthplace: Lestallum, Kingdom of Lucis_

“That’s an ugly ass name, kid. You couldn’t think of a better one than that?!”

“I’m gonna say my parents are from Tenebrae – blonde hair and all. And – and they have weird names like that…” Prompto hand waves the concern away, the old man leaning forward. “It’s worth a shot?!” Prompto shrugs and grins, renewed with such an excitement and positivity at the opportunity that even the earlier news does not spoil his new mood.

“Looks believable enough I guess…but if you end up in jail or as Daemon food I ain’t bailin’ you out, you hear?! Don’t waste your one phone call on me!”

“I won’t need to, I promise…” Prompto closes the passport, tucking it into his pocket. “Now I just gotta do the birth certificate –“

“You better wait ‘til you clock out on your damn break for that!” Atlas snaps, but Prompto doesn’t hear him.

* * *

 

“Can you pass the brussel sprouts please, mom –?” Prompto quietly questions, though his voice drops into inaudibility. His mother holds up a hand to silence him, her eyes on the small television that sits upon a coffee table in the corner of their already cramped kitchen.

 _“…delegation from Tenebrae to escort Lady Lunafreya, who is expected to be in attendance of King Noctis Lucis Caelum’s thirtieth celebration at the Citadel next week.”_ The reporter on the television excitedly reports before turning to her correspondent.

_“That’s right indeed, an especially exciting event, as Lady Lunafreya’s last visit to the Crown City was during the funeral of the late King Regis Lucis Caelum two years ago.”_

_“A much more joyous occasion then, for Lady Lunafreya’s arrival.”_

_“Joyous, but busy. Many have already begun congregating around the Citadel’s courtyard in an effort to catch the Lady’s escort in an attempt to host an audience with the Oracle and Princess. Those said to be suffering from Starscourge and other maladies are hoping for the dear Lady to bless them with a cure.”_

Video from the studio cuts instead to stock footage of the beautiful gentle, woman placing her hands on the afflicted. Tiny, iridescent golden balls emanate from her hands as she extracts the sickness from the bodies of the ill, though the outdated, fuzzy picture of the television leaves the image with little detail.

_“I understand that there are many within my Kingdom’s borders whose needs necessitate the healing gifts of the great Lady Lunafreya.”_

The footage of Luna cuts instead to a reportage Noctis had offered the press earlier that day.

_“It would be selfish of me to deprive my people of such priceless visitation with the Oracle when her visit is under the fleeting guise of a mere birthday party. Therefore I will be working together diligently with Her Ladyship to establish a time frame here at the Citadel that will allow those in need to receive the care that they need –“_

“You can tell his speechwriter has gotten better…” Prompto’s father grunts at the television, though neither his mother nor Prompto himself offer a response in regard to his underhanded compliment. “But let me tell you, the whole thing’ll be a mess. There are thousands of people in Lucis _alone_ who need her attention. What’s he gonna do, give people a number and tell them to stand in line?!”

“I – I dunno –“ Prompto chokes, suddenly losing his appetite. His application to photograph the celebration most likely rests upon the desk of the King to be reviewed as they speak. Would such chaos at the party prevent him for having his own private audience with King Noctis? Prompto had long been waffling between wishing to tell his family of his intentions and not, the blonde ultimately opting for silence. There was little to no guarantee he would win as it was.

“It’s gonna be a shit show, the whole thing…” his father scoffs, albeit sadly, his mother shaking her head solemnly.

“They’ll probably make more arrests to distract us all from it…” she sighs, and Prompto merely sighs before continuing to watch the news.

 _“ – Also have a pilgrimage planned together with Her Ladyship to heal the sick, and eliminate the Daemon population. It is my understanding that my late father’s illness left him little ability to cull the Daemon population outside of Lucis, and, now that I am two years into my own reign, I would like to revive his service effort. Details of our mission will follow after my birthday.”_ Noctis ends with a stoic nod to the cameras, stepping down from the podium as he is instantly showered with the bright flashes of dozens of cameras rapidly capturing his likeness.

 _“Very poignant words.”_ The female anchor turns to her partner once the camera cuts back to their desk at the studio.

_“As for international news, rumors have also been spread all across Eos that the Niflheim government is assembling troops for unknown purposes.”_

_“Strange structures have begun popping up all over Eos said to house thousands of deactivated Magitek Troops – those are the signature units that compose the majority of Niflheim’s military – although the facilities are said to be dormant and inactive, it still leaves many in Parliament and the Crownsguard uneasy.”_

The camera cuts to an Insomnian news correspondent as he stands before a thick, concrete slab, a finger in his ear as he waits for the signal to begin his story.

_“That’s right, I am standing outside of what is one of the alleged Gralean facilities just outside the Lucian border in Leide. Although no activity has been seen either entering or exiting the compound, their remote locations, classified natures, and military-like setup implies very sinister intentions.”_

The camera instantly cuts to earlier footage of Titus Drautos as he stands at a podium, addressing a full body of government officials as he delivers a speech.

_“Too long have we as a people watched and waited for Nilfheim’s attack. While there is some false comfort to be derived as we wait under the wings of kings, the Gralean government is obviously mobilizing whilst we do nothing to prepare our country and our people for imminent attack. Multiple reports of Magitek Engines floating into Lucian airspace have been tipped to us in Parliament. Every other day, our brave men and women in Kingsglaive uniforms thwart potentially catastrophic terrorist attacks, arresting their would-be Gralean perpetrators. We see their moves and we will anticipate them, with or without the Crown’s agreement, we in Parliament are dedicated to maintaining the safety and sovereignty of Lucis!”_

The desk of the studio returns, the anchors pausing before continuing.

_“It should be noted that King Noctis and his Court have been notified of the mobilization and have offered private counsel to our military correspondents. In the meantime, King Noctis is urging all Lucian citizens to carry on as usual, and that talks with the Niflheim Chancellor and Emperor are supposed to begin for the first time in thirty years following his birthday –“_

“Does he really anticipate such a hang over that everything has to wait until _after_ his birthday?!” Prompto’s father laughs, though not without an undertone of resignation in his ultimately humorless chuckle.

“Or what about the fact that this is the third week in a row where the news doesn’t say anything about the way Gralean Lucians are being treated, or how even now _Galahdians_ are being profiled in the streets,” Prompto huffs, shaking his head and closing his eyes, ignoring the rest of the reportage.

“We’re just the _wrong_ kind of blonde, sweetie,” his mother sighs, honoring his ten minute old request for brussel sprouts and placing the bowl next to his plate.

“No, I’m serious. Haven’t – haven’t you guys _noticed_ anything?!”

“Are you kidding me, Prompto?! Of _course_ we have!” his mother snaps. “I’ve probably been the longest lasting employee that store’s ever _had_ , and now people refuse to come through my line. Even customers I’ve had since you were in _diapers_!”

“You ever try selling insurance as an unmistakable Gralean?” his father adds, Prompto leaning back in his chair and grinning, despite the devastating nature of their predicament.

“Well, I notice none of you ask how business at the camera shop is going, or how my meeting with the financial aid office at Insomnia University went –“

“Because we don’t _need_ to, Prompto, we already know,” his mother hisses, the aggression in her voice causing Prompto to sit up straight and stare shamefully at his bowl. She massages his shoulder blades sympathetically, though the gesture does not ease his guilt. Was he really so caught up in his own righteous, youthful suffering, that he assumed his parents would still be so caught up in the idea of _Lucian paradise_ to tell?

“I don’t know what’s happening here, but this isn’t the Lucis your father and I came to to give you a better life…” she whispers, and for the briefest of moments, Prompto debates telling them everything; his plan to pull Noctis aside himself, to get the young King to see the suffering of innocent people.

But as he stands to bus his plate, his father wearily rubbing his eyes as he frowns, his mother holding back tears in her own, he decides to save it for dinner tomorrow.

* * *

 

“ _You_ – “

“What – “

“What’d I tell you?!”

 _“What – ?!”_ Prompto repeats the question, jerked unexpectedly out of his daydream when Atlas whacks him on the back of the head with an operation manual.

“I told you to keep me the fuck outta yer treason, is _what_!” he growls, but the smile on his lips does not match the aggression in his voice. Prompto guffaws, wide-eyed and at a loss for any further words. He silently awaits further explanation from his boss, who flakes tobacco into a rolling paper.

“ _The Herald_ called _my_ shop, looking for an _Adrian Cantonese Whatsit_ , or whatever dumbass name you came up with – “

“Fuck…” Prompto whispers, his blood running cold.

“ _Fuck_ is right! You know I had to come up with a lie on the spot, tellin’ them he was a former employee of mine, and that I’d bring ‘im into the shop later today so that you could accept your prize for that photo shoot thing?!”

“Wait, what – ?!” Prompto repeats the word for what feels like the thousandth time in a minute, but the older man places his rolled cigarette on the glass worktop before leaning impossibly close to the lanky blonde.

“YOU WON THE SWEEPSTAKES YOU KNUCKLEHEAD, BUT YOU PUT MY DAMN STORE AS THE CONTACT NUMBER AND ADDRESS!”

“Oh – yeah, I – I did…” Prompto smiles, suddenly lightheaded with glee, not just because he had won his chance at an audience with the King, but also because his plan had worked. “I mean, if I’d given my address or number, they would have thrown out my application in a heartbeat!”

“You know how damn risky that was?! You could o’ landed us both in jail, had my shop taken from me! But it’s like I said before. Bitching doesn’t get you _shit_ , kid. You play their game, all the way to their pretty little thrones and lairs, and even if not a damn thing changes, you can’t say it’s because you didn’t try,”

Prompto nods, suddenly filled with unbridled energy, his hands shaking from restless excitement.

“They’re gonna be callin’ for you here in a minute, alright?! But do me a favor. Next time you wanna pull some shit like that with my name on it, tell me the details so I can at least be in on the lie when we show up in court!” Atlas snaps, the screen door of the back exit leading to alleyway slamming against his hip as he leaves for a smoke.

Prompto paces back and forth, nearly jumping a foot in the air when the landline on the counter rings.

“Atlas Camera Sales and Repairs, this is Prom – Adrian speaking!” he nervously corrects himself, though the other on the end of the line does not seem to notice.

_“Adrian? Adrian Castitatis? This is Flavus with the Lucian Herald, how are you this afternoon?”_

“Great!” Prompto croaks, twisting the cord nervously in his fingers.

_“Yes, I’m sure you’re aware by now that we are calling to inform you that you have been one of the three chosen out of hundreds of applicants to photograph the upcoming birthday party of King Noctis Lucis Caelum next week!”_

“Yeah – yeah!” Prompto breathlessly affirms. “I’m – I’m sorry, I’m just really excited –“

_“Well, you should be! Your portfolio is absolutely stellar! The King himself had a lot to do with the selection of the photographers and let me tell you, he lingered on your work the longest!”_

“Wow, did he really?” Prompto mumbles, unable to stop himself from genuinely grinning.

_“Yes. So this call is just a little bit of housekeeping. Do you want to accept the position?”_

“Yes!” Prompto nearly swallows his words, he answers back so quickly.

 _“Great…”_ the man on the other end chuckles at Prompto’s hasty acceptance. _“I can only imagine what sort of a boost this event will have on your career. Plus it will be neat to personally meet the king! But obviously, before we can have you before him, we will need you to meet us at the Citadel’s fourth entrance and check in with his Glaives for security check. This will also be an all day event, so you and the other photographers will be expected to arrive at the Citadel for check in at seven in the morning. You will be photographing well into the evening, therefore the King has arranged lodging for you within the Citadel overnight, is this okay?”_

“Yes – “ Prompto nods, even if the reporter cannot see his emphatic excitement.

_“We will also want to cover a story on the up and coming photographers, therefore we want to feature your picture in an article – “_

_“Fuck…”_

_“Everything alright?!”_

“Yeah, yeah! I just uh – have to uh, get a haircut…” Prompto mumbles, the man on the other end laughing heartily at what he assumes to be a joke.

_“Leave it to you photography types to have to look your absolute best. Don’t worry, kid. You got a week ‘til the whole stint, so that leaves you plenty of time. Remember, Citadel, seven am, next Wednesday. Bring your paperwork and be ready to sign release papers and a right to a background check. Bring belongings for an overnight stay, as you will be staying at the Citadel. Give the photography department here at the Herald’s office if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. Congratulations again,”_

“Th – thanks…” Prompto whispers before sharing a brief goodbye and hanging up the phone. “Uh, Atlas? Prompto starts, the man’s signature cough ringing down the hall as he approaches the counter.

“I’m gonna need to take next Wednesday and Thursday off.”


	5. Tenebraen Blonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…Ignis…” Noctis wearily groans into the cellphone he places against his cheek a few seconds later. “Remember what you said about me regretting you leaving my side today? Yeah. Congrats. You win. Yeah, scold me later. No, it’s got fuck all to do with the beard. But I do need you, Gladio and Luna in my study as soon as possible. I think we may have a problem.”

**Six Months Prior to Prompto's capture**

“…It’s wrong, it’s tyrannical – no, _it’s tyrannical, and it’s wrong_ …”

Prompto’s eyes never once look away from those reflected back at him in the mirror. The sterile white light that shines upon his face from the single exposed lightbulb screwed into the bathroom mirrors casts deranged shadows into the valleys of his sleep-deprived face. The only sound that drowns the mantra he practices before delivering it to Prince Noctis is the hair trimmer as it buzzes mundanely at the base of his neck.

He’d let himself be barbered nearly a week earlier.

_“Better to do it now, rather ‘n later,” Atlas had wisely offered. “Think about it. For one, it takes all haircuts a day or two t’settle. Wanna look nice ‘nd presentable and not like some mongrel before you grovel at the King’s feet. For two, you wanna make your hair look natural, right? You’re Tenebraen, ain’t ya? Supposedly. Yeah. That’s the story y’came up with. Anyway, nothin’ says ‘poke holes in my story!’ like you messin’ with yer fresh haircut. You don’t mess with your hair, you ain’t gonna draw attention to it. Third o’all, who knows how long it’ll take your Niff ass to find a barber who’ll actually plant your dirty ass in their pure, Lucian chair.”_

Atlas’ gruff, racist words had etched themselves into his confidence, permanent and stinging and raw, each syllable buzzing in his subconscious like a fresh tattoo. Even more tattoo like, however, was the pictorial rite of passage the words themselves symbolized for the blonde. Worse than anything, however, was the undeniable validity to even the most heinously backwards of the man’s vocalized musings. It had taken Prompto three days to finally find a barber willing to allow his blonde locks to drop against their floors.

He had found himself in Little Galahd by what he would consider to be accident. The darkness of their hair was all they shared in common with the Lucians, to whom they are expats. Their dark brown eyes and voices, and the underlying tans of their skin contrasted starkly against the almost ghostly white paleness of the Lucian people. A paleness Graleans had in common with Lucians, if not vis-à-vis their hair color. And thus Prompto’s paleness had drawn the gazes of the Galahdians to his presences like moths to a flame, as if the Crystal itself had been in display in their very quarters.

An older Galahdian man had beckoned him inside, uttering broken sounds only mildly reminiscent of a Lucian dialect.

Much like most of the marketplace in Little Galahd, the vendor stalls were covered by vibrant shawls and tapestries. What few permanent structures graced their square are shanty like and hastily cobbled together, as if to say their stay within the country was only temporary.

For all the wrongdoings wrought onto him and other Graleans in Lucis as of late, Prompto mused with a frown upon his face, at least his role in society was concrete, inarguable. The wind had blown through the tent, whipping uneven strands of hair into his eyes, waiting to be cut. The barber must’ve been used to such working conditions, for he kept a firm hand upon the crown of Prompto’s head, and the cut came out skillfully done, and expertly stylish.

He merely uses the razor in his hand to keep up the buzzed look at the nape of his neck. His blonde hair is parted to the side, coiffed and handsomely styled to suit his piercing features. While he usually prefers the more youthful look of his spiky hair, he had taken Atlas’ words to heart when he said he would have to work overtime in the looks department in order to earn the King’s respect as a Gralean.

_“Make sure you go in there lookin’ like a man ‘nd not like a Chocobo. Chocobos don’t have rights, humans do.”_

Prompto sighs at his reflection as he registers the memories of his boss’ words. Most of his sunburn has peeled away to reveal a layer of healthy, lightly tanned skin. His golden shoulders are concealed under the white dress shirt he wears, his contrastingly pasty legs hidden away behind this tailored, form fitting slacks. He pats his camera bag on his shoulder, within it lying the counterfeit documents used to confirm his false identity.

“King Noctis, I’ve come to you today to implore you cease your unconstitutional treatment of legal, law abiding Graleans within Lucian borders. They are being unfairly profiled, systematically discriminated against, and cast out of the only society that has welcomed them. They are being wrongfully excluded from jobs and higher education, cast out of their social circles, and shunned from even the most basic of human interactions. While I understand tensions between the two nations are complicated, and that there are many Graleans out there who wish to harm our way of life, those Graleans are not the ones suffering under the laws of the Crown and Parliament. Please reconsider your actions, and speak out publicly against the discrimination, as your current actions are harming thousands of innocent people. It’s tyrannical, and it’s wrong.”

Prompto’s shoulders heave in relief after he finally recites his meticulously practiced speech in full for the first time without error.

_“Well, Chocobos deserve their rights, too.”_

He nods to himself, careful to slip out into the sleepy streets of Insomnia without waking his parents.

* * *

 

“Right, Noct – let us review it all once again. You are to be in the courtyard at 7:15 for your meeting with the press and the winners of the photography competition, then you are to hold your inaugural address, you are to introduce Luna to party goers, and then you are to properly mingle with your guests until it comes time to give the photographers a tour of the Citadel and show them to their rooms, are we understood?”

“Gee, where’s the fun in my own _birthday party_ scheduled into all of that, Iggy?” Noctis rolls his eyes, leaning forward as he brings a pair of grooming scissors to his chin. He delicately snips away at overgrown whiskers in his beard, trimming them into a neat, handsome stubble. His shoulder length hair is clean and brushed, strands of it accentuating the handsome profile of his face. His suit, black and fitted, is coupled with a regal black cloak, fastened at the shoulders with ornate golden chains and pauldrons. Far be it from Noctis to deny his own good looks. He winks at himself in the mirror, though he reddens slightly as he remembers Ignis stands a few feet away behind his shoulder.

“Are you not removing the entirety of that _awful_ thing?!” Ignis scoffs, the scrunch of his leather Kingsglaive uniform crunching as its meets the marble of the splendid door frame against which he leans.

“Okay, first of all, my beard’s not awful. It’s all I’ve got that doesn’t make me look twenty. Second of all, it’s _my_ birthday, so go away if you’re just gonna nit-pick me!”

“Alright, alright, I won’t say anything, then!” Ignis resigns, raising his hands in innocence and taking a step out of Noctis’ vanity room.

“Seriously, who has a fuckin’ inaugural address at their _birthday_ …” Noctis mumbles, twisting his head back and forth to survey his looks.

“ _Kings_ do, Noct. You’ve already got the giant castle, a guest list four hundred people deep, and a _princess_ coming, this isn’t exactly twelve year old Timmy’s backyard shindig with a cousin in a musty, rented suit only barely escaping copyright infringement…”

“…What?!” Noctis hisses, eyes narrowed entirely from confusion.

“In other words, I’ll go away, but you _are_ going to regret requesting I do so,”

“Well where’s Gladio gonna be?” Noctis folds his arms, tilting his head to the side.

“He’s going to be hovering in your general proximity all day, seeing to it as King’s Shield that no one takes any ill-meant maneuvers at your _very important_ person,”

“…Kay.” Noctis sassily registers. “Well, what’re _you_ gonna be doing, since I’ve knocked _nagging_ off your list?!”

“Having a _good time_ , for once,” Ignis retorts back, waving his hand as he turns on his heel, his footsteps echoing off the granite walls. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Your Majesty.”

* * *

 

“Hi! I’m Theodora! Nice to meet you!”

The shrill voice of the bespectacled young woman who addresses Prompto is followed by her surprisingly strong hand nearly pulling him to the ground with her handshake. He nervously chuckles as he observes the other winner. She cannot be older than sixteen. Her red hair is braided into two, back-length plaits, and her mint green sun dress is flattering, but tasteful. Her chubby cheeks hide away large, brace-adorned teeth, but her smile is genuine and still very charming.

“Hey, I’m Prom – _Adrian_ …” he quickly corrects, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. It would take a bit of practice to get his name as confidently memorized as his speech.

“Wow, is that your camera?!” she shrieks, Prompto instinctively reaching for the bag she jumps to grab, pulling it out of her reach. The three winners had met at the Citadel courtyard at seven am as dutifully promised. Journalists and photographers from the _Herald_ stand about the space in their own exclusive cluster a few feet away from the winners. The other finalist – a thin, impossibly tall, darker skin man whose hair is pulled back into a greasy ponytail – stands with his eyes half lidded, his lips curled into a frown in order to maintain their grip on the burning cigarette he barely puffs.

“Gorgio – Lestallum,” he mumbles, partially due to a thick accent, partially due to an air of unfriendliness Prompto easily reads, even if the young woman between them – Theodora – does not.

“So then I guess all of you guys are good photographers too, huh?” she brightly pipes up, passing the silent time they wait for Noctis and Luna with an incessant onslaught of questions. Prompto darts his eyes to the other – Gorgio – who merely continues as if he had not heard her. He clears his throat before answering.

“Yeah, uh…photography’s really important to me…” he sighs. He is careful not to overshare as he is typically wont to do.

“I _really_ like Prince – well, _King_ now – Noctis…” she sighs, and Prompto raises his eyebrows before he can politely stop them from disappearing into his recently styled hairline. “My whole entire wall is covered in posters of him. _Gods_ , he’s so hot!”

Gorgio says nothing. Prompto wishes he were naturally the type of person to blatantly ignore someone for the better sake of his own comfort, but he gulps before fishing for a response.

“Yeah, uh – he’s alright, I guess…” Prompto nervously stumbles, trapping himself into an even more awkward corner in an already painful conversation.

“Hmm, are you not gay? I _totally_ thought you were gay,”

“I’ve been standing next to you for _maybe_ ten minutes max…” Prompto flatly replies, though Theodora does not recognize the distaste in his voice.

“But yeah, King _Noctis_. Wow! Between photography and _his_ fine ass, the only way this could have gotten better is if he proposes to me at the end of the night,” she sighs, gripping her cheeks. Prompto jumps back, eyes wide as the young woman shoves her heavy camera under his nose.

“I specialize in portraits, so I’m really hoping I can get a _personal photoshoot_ with him…” she slyly narrates, Prompto choosing to ignore her commentary and instead focus on her work. The finalists hadn’t even had a chance to observe each other’s work, he realizes as he flips through her gallery. Artists are usually weird, he concedes. It is an offset to the talent they harbor, and Theodora, for all of her lack of social grace, is talented indeed.

“The way you manipulate light and shadows in your portraits is really evocative,” he kindly compliments, and she beams.

“Thanks! I love what I do! But yeah, Noctis!” She wastes no time in continuing, and Prompto’s smile awkwardly slacks into one of severe pain. There was no casual way to explain to the young woman that his motivation for ending the contest was more about convincing King Noctis to end the tyrannical treatment of his people under his rule, rather than end up in his bed.

“Did you know that he was born at night on August 30th?! He’s a Leo. Oh, he was born at at 9:17 pm, he’s 5’9”, and his eyes are grey?” she hopefully pipes. Gorgio flicks his cigarette against the marble, courtyard ground, earning him a glare from a Glaive a few feet away.

“…Uh, no.” Prompto meekly offers after a few minutes of awkward silence.

The birthday boy, Prompto inwardly scoffs, folding his arms and cocking his leg, could not arrive any sooner.

* * *

 

“I don’t understand why Iggy just doesn’t get that I wanna _enjoy_ myself, for once,” Noctis longingly explains to Gladio, who leisurely strolls by Noctis’ side. They were due to meet the contest winners nearly ten minutes ago in the courtyard, though Gladio felt the obvious tension in his frame needed a bit of venting before diving immediately into the public.

“Noct, we _all_ get it. There’s nothin’ more’n I want than to get the _fuck_ outta Insomnia, pitch a tent in a forest, crack open a cold one, and just listen to my own thoughts this weekend, but I _can’t_ either. Iggy probably wants to do whatever the hell it is _he_ does, but _he_ can’t. Shit, Luna’s here for a birthday party, and she can’t even enjoy that without picking up a few dozen hours of a healing shift. You’re not the only one, Sleepyhead,”

Noctis sighs, shoulders sagging.

“Hey, ‘least the Niffs won’t be here, so you don’t have to be miserable _and_ fake…”

“Eh, it’s not exactly a _good_ thing that Izunia and Aldercapt can’t fake civility long enough to show up to my party for the weekend,” Noctis grunts. “Iggy and I were just _talking about that this morning_ , in fact…”

“Look, Iggy’s on diplomacy duty, alright? He’s gonna hit all the delegates you don’t and stay outta your hair. _Literally_ ,” Gladio smirks, thwacking his thumb and index finger against Noctis’ handsomely trimmed beard, eliciting a soft _“ow,”_ from the king.

“ _Yeah, yeah_ …” Noctis aggregately groans, rubbing his cheek.

“Alright, put on your game face, acknowledge the winners _you_ chose, and don’t be a fuckin’ _brat_. You’re thirty now, you’re a big boy,” Gladio sternly lectures as he parts the main doors, instantly flooding the hallway with early morning sunshine. Noctis raises an arm to shield his light from the sun, and as his black, waxed Chelsea boot hits the top step, he nearly topples down the remaining set due to the shrill sound of a screeching scream that reaches his ears.

“I LOVE YOU, KING NOCTIS!!!!!” a girl desperately shrieks in the courtyard, waving her arms, Noctis instantly blanching as he meets his very small public of the three winners and the _Herald_ journalism crew.

Six hours is suddenly a seemingly _long_ time away before he’d be able to have a drop of alcohol in his system.

He audibly exhales as he catches his breath and heart rate, slowly descending the remainder of the steps. Gladio next to him mouths _“what the fuck?!”_ a confused smile on his face.

“I’m gonna go help the other Glaives secure the perimeter. I’ll meet you in a little bit. Good luck, _King Noctis_ ,” he cruelly smirks before leaving Noctis by his lonesome.

Theodora, bright red, fans herself and breathes quickly through her mouth. Gorgio continues his pointed glance off toward the horizon, another freshly lit cigarette in his mouth. Prompto fishes in his camera bag, having missed Noctis’ arrival entirely.

Five hours and fifty seven minutes is suddenly a seemingly _long_ time away before he’d able to have a drop of alcohol in his system.

“Good morning, everyone,” Noctis cobbles together his hodge podge of racing judgments into a genuine, heartfelt smile. “And thank you all for taking the time to personally join me on my thirtieth birthday,” his grey, glittering eyes linger briefly over each of the three individuals. Prompto does not yet look up. Theodora is frozen with glee. Gorgio exhales a cloud of smoke that make Noctis’ eyes water, and a Glaive not too far away to wrinkle his nose and wave it away.

“I’m afraid to say there’s no smoking inside the Citadel,” Noctis tries to joke and extending his hand to shake his, but Gorgio merely frowns.

“I must find patio, then,” he snaps, Noctis wide-eyed and silent.

“…Okay. And you, young lady –“

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCT!” She cheers, stopping the man mid-sentence with her exaltation, leaving an awkward silence between them. “May I call you that?” she adds sheepishly, Noctis smiling kindly, but strained.

“Yeah, sure, I don’t care, we’re friends, now,” the man had never dealt with fangirls before, but his gesture is honest and genuine.

“Welp, _you’re_ doomed…” Prompto can’t help but snicker under his breath, instantly drawing the attention of Noctis. He clasps his hands over his mouth. “Shit, I – I didn’t mean to say that out loud – “ he tries to recover, instantly regretting his decision, for Noctis’ features are stunned and dumbfounded, soft with shock.

 _“Great, there go my chances, now I’m just stuck photographing royals for free…”_ Prompto hastily mourns, awkwardly shifting as Noctis’ gaze does not let up.

What specifically Prompto had said, however, the king had already forgotten. If the other two were any indicator, Noctis could only await what other motley addition to his personal photographers he had selected. The applications did not come with any photos of the applicants themselves, merely their work and a brief blurb on why they entered the sweepstakes. He’d expected many things, judging by the company of the other two.

All but coming into contact with the most beautiful man he had ever seen in thirty years of living on Eos.

Noctis blinks a few times, committing the other’s face to memory. His freckled nose and cheeks, the brightness of his blue eyes, the golden blonde of his hair, his slender frame, his charming smile –

“Sorry, Your Majesty, I – I shouldn’t have said –“

“Noct – call me Noct…” Noctis only barely catches his regal air, extending a hand and taking Prompto’s into his with a firm, satisfying handshake.

 _“Phew…”_ Prompto visibly relaxes, smiling with relief as the change in his stance draws from Noctis a soft, personal smile of his own.

“You must be Adrian, then…” Noctis’ smile is ever present, though Prompto is entirely too nervous regarding his covert operation to notice the almost flirtatious look that escapes through the king’s eyes, no matter how controlled he deems himself to be.

“Yup! That’s me! Adrian! Yeah!” Prompto nods, Noctis chuckling softly.

 _“He’s such a fucking dork, holy shit…”_ Noctis’ smile spreads, and he shakes his head slowly.

“Well, uh – Adrian, between you and me, your portfolio impressed me the most,” Noctis whispers, and Prompto, even for all of his goal-oriented self-control, can’t help but genuinely smile at the compliment.

 _“Wow, the King of Lucis thinks I’m the most talented photographer in the Kingdom…too bad he doesn’t think I’m talented enough to go to school!”_ Prompto sassily snaps in his head, though the magnitude of recognition still does much to boost his ego.

 _“Wasn’t expecting the most talented to also be so – so …”_ Noctis’ thoughts trail, but he clears his throat.

“And I’m not just saying that! Ask – ask Flavus over there –“ Noctis points over Prompto’s shoulder, the blonde looking over it to observe a thin man in a tweed suit jacket with thick, black glasses.

“Yeah, he – he even said that on the phone…” Prompto nods.

“I’d _really_ like to talk about you about your work,” Noctis charmingly mutters, and Prompto’s heart rate accelerates. Whether or not the King of Lucis was well versed in the nuances of photography is irrelevant; merely that Prompto has his private opening to discuss his concerns with an already captivated audience.

“Noct! _Please_ tell us we get a personal, individual tour of the Citadel,” Theodora sings, Noctis scratching behind his neck.

“Uh, something like that –“

“Your Highness, Gladio says Lady Luna is ready to meet the guests. Are the three and the press ready?” A Glaive jogs to meet them all in their conversation, and Noctis looks between his company.

“Well? Are we?” he smiles, all of them nodding, Theodora absolutely smitten.

“Yeah, go on ahead and escort her out – hey Flavus! We’re getting started, alright?” Noctis calls, the reporter giving the king a very casual and dismissive thumbs up, not even looking up from the conversation he holds with his camera man.

“Okay, so when we’re all standing around, they’re gonna take pictures of you guys for the article they’re writing, so just pretend like you don’t see it, okay?” Noctis mumbles, and he jogs back up the steps to take the hand of a beautiful woman in a knee length white dress, her white blonde hair flowing freely by her shoulders. The only bits of color in her wardrobe are the violent blues of the Sylleblossom earrings and necklace that speckle her fair skin like glittering, cerulean diamonds.

Right away all of those in her presence bow as she meets them on level ground, her hands modestly clasped against her stomach. She takes a bow of her own, beaming at the three of them.

“Good morning, everyone. How wonderful that we can all meet one another,” her voice is as powerful as her appearances on television had implied, Prompto notes. He looks her up and down, marveling the strength with which she carries herself. Inarguably dainty and feminine, an air of self-confidence still permeates throughout her entire being.

“Lady Lunafreya! Oh my Gods, this cannot be happening!” Theodora rushes to grip her hands, shaking them.

“You must be Theodora Viridina, yes?” Luna nods, Noctis smacking himself on the forehead and leaning into Luna’s ear.

“How do you know their names?” he softly whispers.

“Their biography pages came with _names_ , Noctis, did you merely neglect to read them?” she smirks back, and Noctis smiles back sheepishly.

“Gorgio Anguilli?” Luna bows before the other man, who crushes his cigarette with his foot.

“Lady Lunafreya,” he stoically mumbles, the woman sharing a wide-eyed look with Noctis before meeting Prompto’s gaze.

“And Adrian Castitas! I have been told you are the winner from Tenebrae?”

_“Oh, yeah, fuck.”_

Prompto blanches, swallowing before nodding.

“How wonderful is that! And where in Tenebrae are you from?”

_“Fuck!”_

“Uh…” Prompto nervously drawls, scratching behind his neck and scanning nervously about the courtyard.

“…Tenebrae?!” he squeakily replies, what little color remaining in his flesh immediately draining as he recognizes the idiotic redundancy in his answer.

Time passes before Noctis bursts into hearty laughter, turning around and laughing into his hand. Luna’s smile does not even twitch at the corners of her mouth, though her eyes glitter with the most obvious look of, _“You’ve got to be shitting me,”_ if Prompto had ever seen one.

“Someone’s even more nervous than me!” Theodora giggles behind her hand, Gorgio merely observing Prompto with a raised eyebrow. “I may be a Noctis fangirl, but it looks like Luna has a fan _boy_!”

Noctis’s laughter slowly subsides into deep chuckles.

 _“There’s actually someone here that’s more of a socially awkward fuck up than me…”_ he thinks. _“Well…”_

 His eyes dart between the other two winners. _“In a good way, anyway…”_

“Yes, yes, it must be nerves,” Flavus haughtily pipes up as he finally joins them, Prompto clearing his throat and nodding in agreement.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

“Alright, are we ready?! The office wants this story by this afternoon for the evening print,”

“Yeah, yeah, anytime. Are _you_ ready, Adrian?!” Noctis teases, and Prompto jumps at the attention, nodding stiffly.

“Okay, so talk as if we’re not here, ignore the cameras, you get the drill…” Flavus rolls his eyes, as if the thirtieth birthday celebration of his king was the least interesting subject on Eos his team could possibly cover.

“So tell us a little bit about yourselves,” Noctis starts, Luna nodding in agreement.

“Well I’m Theodora Viridinia, sixteen, Insomnia, born and raised– and I am the absolute biggest fan of King Noctis in this whole town, you hear me?!” she bombastically starts, and Prompto instantly shields his eyes and looks away.

Hopefully the party would be stocked with enough alcohol keep him sane until the deed was done.

* * *

 

“…so, uh…” Noctis awkwardly starts. The two, having sufficiently greeted the winners and arriving guests, stroll around the edge of the gardens. “How’re things going with you and Nyx?”

“Oh…” Luna coyly smiles, shyly darting her eyes. “Well, I must say I thank you dearly for stationing him in Tenebrae…”

“Hey, it was the most subtle thing I knew to do…” Noctis smirks, Luna nodding in agreement.

“Mm, I do appreciate it. We’re trying to time news of our involvement for the right moment before we go public, hence him not being here for your birthday. The tabloids in Tenebrae already suspect something, so he stayed behind to shake their trail a bit. He says happy birthday, by the way, and I am supposed to give Gladio a very big pat on the back from Nyx to him…” she fondly ends her statement, Noctis nodding and smiling.

“But what about you, Noct? Have you not found a charming man to rule alongside you – ?!”

“Luna, what?!” Noctis shrieks, his heart nearly jumping in his throat. She looks unphased, however, her expression unchanged. “What – what – what do – what –“

“Noct, just because Gladio and Ignis are oblivious, that doesn’t mean I am,” she kindly, but firmly assures him. “Look, the only person who waited longer than me for you to propose to me were the newspapers all over the world, and I know for sure they have since abandoned any hope there…”

Noctis is ghost white and suddenly very queasy. Far be it from his best friend to ever hang the vulnerability of his sexuality over his head, but it is not to say the topic of it is casual.

“You’ve been…attracted to men for some time, haven’t you, Noct?” she whispers, and Noctis closes his eyes before nodding.

“Ever since I was about sixteen, that – that’s when I finally understood it all for what it was…” Noctis quietly whispers.

“Your secret is safe with me, Noct. You have kept Nyx and myself near and dear to you, it is the least I can do…”

“Well, don’t – don’t make fun of me, but – “ Noctis looks up in the sky, as if pleading to the Astrals themselves for the strength to continue. He had never voiced his attractions out loud to another before.

“The photographer – the – the one from Tenebrae…Adrian…”

“What about him? Other than the fact that he cannot remember where he is from…” Luna remembers, eyebrows raised and a smile on his face.

“He’s honestly the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life…” Noctis whispers, running a stressed hand through his hair as he attempts to express the immediate jolt of emotion he’d managed to contain since earlier that morning.

“Really? Would you say such a young man is then, your _type_?” the edge of her question is piqued with only the softest hint of curiosity.

“No, not at all…” Noctis grimaces, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t even say I have one, exactly, just some people – well – _men_ stand out to me, and others don’t, it’s rather inconsistent…” he trails off, lost in thought. “I dunno what it is, I don’t even know what’s going on, exactly. Just, he looked up and…”

Luna smiles.

“It’s nice, seeing you open up the last part of yourself that you’ve been hiding away…”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“He’s a bit young, though, isn’t he? Twenty? Twenty One?”

“I mean, he’s an adult…”

“I’m not implying anything along _those_ lines, Noctis, just that there is an age gap to be considered, between twenty and thirty, not to mention he is a commoner, and you are the _King of Lucis_ ,”

“I mean I’m – I’m not looking for anything, I just think he’s absolutely _stunning_ …” Noctis sighs, Luna closing her eyes and smiling softly.

“Well I imagine anyone in the company of the other two would be exceptionally charming. Especially around that _Gorgio weirdo_ …” Luna whispers. “Whilst I find his work to be the most impressive, I must say that I find Adrian the most, hm – _endearing_ to be around…” the regal woman respectfully chooses her words, Noctis clearly lost in thought. “He’s a man of few words. Only twenty and he seems so troubled…” she shakes her head.

“He seemed kinda dorky to me,” Noctis sighs, the man constantly replaying the blonde’s smile in his head. Luna raises her eyebrows.

“What?” he innocently questions.

“It’s taken you a bit of time to find comfort in your own title, my dear Noctis,” she smiles, Noctis waving his hand and smirking.

“Come on…”

“I personally think the beard does a lot to enhance your kingly aura,”

“See?! Thank you!”

“Let me guess, Ignis does not exactly _concur_ ,”

“Nope,” Noctis hisses, Luna peering about the various guests that now litter the gardens many feet away.

“Where is he? I’ve only seen him this morning…”

“I kinda told him to get outta my face – not like, angrily or anything, just like, you know…”

“Mmm…some things never change, not even with age or titles,” Luna relaxes into a white metal sun chair.

“Look, we can’t _all_ be as poised as you,” Noctis grins down at the woman, who looks up at him and grins herself.

“Well, _you_ can’t,” she laughs. The woman is rarely catty, though a bit of her sass slips through on odd occasions. “Please, Noctis. I’m only joking. I love you as my friend and partner, and there’s no one else in all of Eos that I would rather have as my king,” she smiles, placing a gentle hand on his. Noctis smiles back, gripping it tightly.

“Thanks, Luna…” he whispers.

“There’s no need to thank me for merely saying the truth,” she nods.

“I’ll have you know, though, our planned pilgrimage has me catching quite a lot of flak from Niflheim. Chancellor Izunia already came by to express his distaste to my brother, Ravus,”

“What a surprise, Niflheim are acting like the antagonistic war mongers that they are…” Noctis sarcastically rolls his eyes, though Luna’s smile frowns.

“Noctis, I worry that your fears surrounding Titus Drautos and his popularity have gotten to you…” she whispers, looking up at Noctis as he hoists himself off the brick wall on which he leans.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Rumours of your decrees have circulated all throughout Tenebrae and Accordo – “

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning that the whole entire world will soon come to see Lucis as being just as corrupt and wretched of a place as Niflheim, should your xenophobic laws continue…” Luna furrows her brow, taking Noctis’ snappy tone very unkindly.

“Look, it’s _easy_ for you, Luna. You’re the Oracle, you don’t have corrupt assholes like him trying to steal your throne, to turn your own people against you – !”

“Noctis, Emperor Aldercapt saw my parents brutally murdered and has annexed my country, holding my brother and I politically hostage for nearly three decades, do not mean to imply that I do not fight political hardships of my own!” though her voice does not raise, the depth of it strengthens her words, her voice unwavering before Noctis’ challenge.

“But despite it all, I will continue to be the right and just Oracle and Princess that is expected of me from my people –“

“And do you know what _my_ people want, Luna?! War!” Noctis hisses, his voice shaking with overflowing emotion. “And I’m not giving it to them, but Drautos, he – he is – he’s got a higher approval rating than me Luna!”

“None of that matters, Noctis –“

“But it _does_ , Luna!” Noctis pleads, his shoulders heaving with his ragged breaths.

“Noctis, your father was a great king –“

“I _know_ – don’t remind me –“

“But you are your own man with your own reign and problems. I do not mean to imply that the severity of corruption taking place here in Lucis is trivial,” she continues, placing a hand on his shoulder that Noctis does not reject. “But what you must then do is catch Drautos in the act of political manipulation, not stoop to his level and oppress the innocent!”

“If I don’t go along with what he wants, the people will overthrow me before he does…” Noctis stares at the ground, his hands clasped in his lap.

“…then by going along with Drautos’ madness, even if it is not entirely your will, are you not already overthrown in spirit?” Luna quietly questions. Noctis’ hands visibly tighten. The man says nothing in the wake of her words, and she is grateful that the sound of music welling up in the ballroom attracts guests into the Citadel proper.

Noctis’ breath rattles as he nods in agreement, eyes closed.

“I don’t know what to do, Luna. Apart from that mess, the Niffs are looking for any angle they can to invade, and go to war with us –“

“You’re a lit match surrounded by a sea of gasoline, Noctis…”

“Gee, thanks…” Noctis sarcastically replies.

“But the same way it is your burning fires protect me to do my job, I will always be here to quench the flames. No one person is meant to maintain peace in this realm. It is why the Astrals above selected two of us for this job,” she kneads his shoulder, Noctis closing his eyes and relaxing.

“I will help you find the solution to all of this together, but then I must implore that you please reconsider signing your name on these laws. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Noctis,”

“Even if I stop them, he’ll put them into place,” Noctis defeatedly mumbles.

“I know for a fact you have confided in Gladio and Ignis regarding your fears,” Luna firmly assumes, and Noctis nods.

“So as I said before, wait until you have enough evidence to try Drautos before the public,”

“Yeah, if there’s one thing that’ll boost my approval ratings, it’s by trying and ousting the one figure and branch not controlled by the Crown that just so happens to be more liked publicly,”

“Mmm, I see your point…” Luna concedes, eyes meeting Noctis’ gaze as they both stare intently at the grass. “Sticky situation indeed…”

“I’ve thought about having him assassinated…”

“Noctis!” she gasps, though she raises her eyebrows. “I can rather understand _why_ …I don’t like the man myself…”

“Listen…” she begins after a period of silence blankets their conversation briefly. “You’ll know in your heart, when the time is right, and things will all fall in to place. We shall have our pilgrimage, you shall stop cosigning these decrees, and we shall take it all one day at a time,”

Noctis pulls the woman into an unexpected, tight embrace, one Luna returns with a jolt of affectionate surprise.

“Do you remember that day, in your room, when we had sewn our crowns from Sylleblossoms?”

Noctis nods, quietly waiting for her to continue.

“Even if we are not joined by marriage, Noct, I love you no less dearly, even if it is not romantic,”

“Luna, I’d be _dead_ without you,” Noctis blinks, shaking his head.

“…We should probably head inside, Noctis. I imagine Ignis had a long list of people for you to chat with this evening,”

“Yup,” Noctis sighs, standing up and extending a hand to assist Luna to her feet.

“It would be unwise of us to _Ignore the Iggster_ , as we used to say as children.”

* * *

 

Prompto had found himself so lost in the euphoria of photographing such a splendid event, that he had not even taken notice of King Noctis’ absence until Theodora’s excited shout drew attention to his arrival into the ballroom with Lunafreya.

His camera (whose SD card he had remembered to switch with a blank one for safe measure) is filled entirely with artistically composed, candid shots of dancing dukes and laughing countesses, of slightly tipsy members of parliament laughing a little too loudly at the jokes of pretty servants. The lighting is divine, the glittering sundogs of the crystal chandeliers bathing everything in a warm, brilliant light.

The rings and bracelets dangling upon the wrists of the guests, Prompto would guess, were likely to cost more than all of his family’s assets put together. The dresses, finely commissioned from tailors in Altissa, the suits bespoke and one of a kind. The finest of foods garnish silver platters upon various tables in splendid abundance, and wine and scotch flow freely from the bottles of waiters who dot the room.

The entirety of the Insomnia Chamber Orchestra sits nestled in the corner, their strings coordinated to don the entire event with tasteful musical ambiance.

Not even the weddings of bankers or executives that he had been commissioned for before the political change could compare to this event.

It is all so grandiose and regal and yet so casually so, Prompto notes as he snaps a picture of a young duke and duchess, undertones of lusty gazes lingering in their eyes, that no one would ever guess that there was anyone there who didn’t know this life already, who didn’t belong.

The entire room creates a semi-circle as Noctis takes Luna’s arm in his, the two posing for an objectively marvelous photo that Theodora snaps. Gorgio crouches low to the ground, snapping pictures of his own, and Prompto has no doubt in his mind that the strange man’s own work is brilliant in a way that is entirely independent of his own unpleasant personality.

His reverie is broken by the buzzing of the phone in his pocket (which Prompto had thought to wipe of any incriminating information in case it had been checked, which indeed it was), the young man lifting it up to see the Camera Shop’s number on the display. His heart races as he holds the phone close to his chest in an attempt to conceal the caller’s identity, and he rushes for a veranda, whose parted French doors promise him seclusion for his conversation.

“Atlas?!” Prompto hastily answers once outside, hunkered low, his hand cupped around the phone’s receiver.

_“Atta, boy! Told your bony ass, didn’t I?! Yer doin’ me proud up there, stickin’ it to the man like that. You had your convo with that pretty boy, yet?!”_

“Yo, probably shouldn’t be having these kinda conversations in the _heat of the moment_ …” he hisses, looking over his back for safe measure. “But no, no, I haven’t…”

_“I ain’t callin’ to expose yer dumb ass, I’m callin’ to say I saw you on the news this mornin’! ‘Nd don’t worry, with the way King Prissy Pants was lookin’ at ya, it won’t be long before he’s talkin’ to ya!”_

“…wait, _the news_?!” Promptos eyes widen as he face palms, his fingers curling in his hair with anxiety. The very same news his parents managed to catch every morning…

Almost like clockwork, his phone begins buzzing with call waiting, the number of his father spamming him incessantly with phone calls.

“Look – do me a favor – _please_ – !“

_“Haven’t I done enough, y’little shit?!”_

“Call my parents – right now – they – they don’t know – “ Prompto chokes from a rising panic that causes his skin to tingle and his temperature to rise.

_“What?!”_

“Call my parents and tell them I’ll explain later, to just – don’t do or say anything, to _anyone_ – “ Prompto pleads, but approaching footsteps against cold stone nearly cause him to flip his phone over the railing.

“…Everything alright out here?!”

Prompto spins around quickly to see the frame of Noctis standing in the entrance to the veranda. His face his flushed, hair much more wild than it had been when the celebration began. He has since abandoned his cloak for merely the black dress shirt and slacks, though on his knee glitters a shiny golden knee brace, one just like the late King Regis would often don the rare moments he made public appearances.

It is only now, strangely enough, that Prompto registers just how short the young king is (5’9”, he remembers, thanks to Theodora). He would even swear that he himself is an inch taller than the older man who slowly approaches him, and Prompto even swears further that a slight look of worry captures his features.

“Yeah, I’m – I’m fine, just – phone call…” he sputters, instantly pocketing the device, though his cartoon phone case catches on the slit of his pocket a few awkward times, only drawing attention to it. Noctis’ grey eyes dart to the case, a soft smile on his face. Prompto inwardly sighs a breath of relief; such a reaction would not be the one warranted had the man overheard any part of their conversation.

“I get it, royal parties overwhelm _me_ , even after thirty years, I get if you have to take a breather,” Noctis understandably explains, Prompto running a hand through his hair and nodding slowly.

“…Yeah, just uh – just _needed the break, I guess_ …”

“Gorgio is on the other end smoking, and Theodora is absolutely enamored with her conversation with Luna, so I figured I’d just float around, make sure you all’re still doing okay…”

Noctis’ explanation is only the slightest white of lies: he’d merely followed a guest out to the balcony in their conversation, thus stumbling upon Gorgio in his silent, stoic smoke break. He’d taken his guest’s desire to smoke for reason enough to end their conversation, thus treading back to the dance floor and gazing upon the animated figures of Luna and Theodora upon happenstance.

He conveniently leaves out the part of him that pleasantly understood that it would thus only be fair to search for the blonde, given he knew the whereabouts of the others.

“Especially given that you forgot _which part of Tenebrae you’re from_ …” Noctis smirks, and Prompto nervously grins before his smile disappears entirely.

 _“Shit…”_ Noctis mentally curses himself, not wanting to drive the other man away entirely.

“I’m fine, really…” Prompto nods, eyes darting to the floor. “…thank you, for uh – for opening up your home to me.” Prompto means the statement in earnest. Noctis chews on his bottom lip; why was such a basic expression of gratitude leaving him at a loss for words?

But the burning reminder that he had opened up his home to Adrian Tenebrae, and not to Prompto, the Gralean of Lucis, rekindles the fire that drove him into the heart of the man’s abode in the first place.

“…I mean, _of course_ …” Noctis finally responds, though his brow his furrowed, and his eyes look upon his still gleaming Chelsea boots, and Prompto crooks his neck from the brief wonder of whether or not the king is stuck in a state of confusion…

“Noct? Noct!” a strangely accented voice calls for the king beyond the veranda, capturing the attention of both men.

“If you’ll excuse me please…” Noctis holds a gentle hand up as an apology before leaving the blonde by his lonesome once more.

Noctis closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to shake the intoxicating feeling that has not failed to capture him around Prompto thus far.

“What the hell is wrong with me…?” he mutters to himself, eyes on the floor as he pushes past various guests to follow the direction of Ignis’ call. “He’s just here because the _Herald_ wanted to cover my birthday without having to pay their own staff to do it, so they came up with that stupid contest and have the three people I picked to do the dirty work for them for free. He’s here because the _Herald_ are lazy bastards, just some twenty something amateur photographer. That’s it.” he mumbles to himself, closing his eyes and steeling himself as he finds Gladio and Ignis together at a table, holding glasses of scotch.

“…Took you about five hours into the whole thing to combust from not nagging me all day,” Noctis smugly folds his arms after looking up from his wrist watch. Ignis rolls his, swirling his glass and taking a short sip.

“Nah, we were just wonderin’ how things’re goin’ alone so far, is all, makin’ sure you don’t need me around, or to put a hit out…” Gladio grins, but Noctis’s sour pout is completely unmissable.

“It’d be nice if I were as drunk as _you_ guys were…” he scoffs.

“Talk to one more duchess and I’ll raise your drink limit from three to _four_ …” Ignis takes another sip, eyebrows slyly raised. “And for the record we are not drunk, Noct. We are merely sufficiently buzzed,”

“Well still, lucky you guys,” Noctis places his hands on his hips. “You know what I’d rather be doin’ to celebrate my thirtieth?”

“Fishin’ in a boat somewhere?” Gladio pipes up.

“Nah, just some video games, actually…haven’t had a good gaming binge in a long ass time…video games, the greasiest pizza in the city, and free ballin’…”

“Too. Much. Information…” Ignis hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, just remember our conversation from this morning,” Gladio nods, and Noctis lowers his arms; it was all just as much a hassle for his best friend as it was for him.

“…Well how’s it all been goin’ for you guys so far? Have you met any of the photographers?” Noctis means to casually interject them as the subject, even looking over his shoulder to see if he can catch a glimpse of the blonde at work.

“No, I have not, I’ve been chatting up the Galahdian prime minister for some time…” Ignis rubs his forehead.

“Can’t say I have, I’ve been helpin’ the boys downstairs with stragglers outside tryin’ to sneak in…” Gladio shrugs.

“Oh, well, uh…” Noctis nervously tapers off. Ignis raises and eyebrow, and Gladio makes an “out with it!” gesture with his hand.

“…I dunno.” Noctis dully finishes.

“One of ‘em cute?” Gladio instantly guesses, and Noctis’ cheeks immediately begin to burn.

“…Yeah, that’s what I thought! Which one is it?!” Gladio excitedly pressures him, but Noctis raises his hands, shaking both them and his head repeatedly. Ignis cranes his head about, silently looking about the crowd.

“I – I don’t wanna say – “ Noctis shortly pleads, but Gladio places his hands on his hips and stares down at Noctis with an awkward frown.

“Now Noct, if you don’t have your eye on the finest man in the room tonight –“

“GLADIO!” Noctis’s eyes widen, the man recoiling and bringing a finger to his lips. “How – how –why would you say a man -- ?!”

“Don’t even entertain him, Gladio…” Ignis shakes his head, Gladio smiling sadly.

“We’ve always known, buddy, we were just waitin’ for you to either figure it out, or tell us yourselves,”

“We’ve known for _ages_ ,” Ignis adds.

“Happy thirtieth, Noct,” Gladio claps a heavy hand on the embarrassed king’s shoulder. “Look, we understand, it’s at your time, at your pace –“

“But we must talk about what to do in terms of heirs, considering same sex couples do not produce children that are entirely their own –“

“Oh, _come on_ , guys…” Noctis groans, head in his hands. “Can we _not_?”

“ _Alright, alright, alright_ , you’re good, we’re good,” Gladio immediately changes the subject, Ignis nodding supportively behind him.

“Yeah, I’m uh… _fine_ …” Noctis hisses, and in a brief stint of irony, finds himself repeating his encounter with Prompto upon the veranda, albeit with the roles reversed. “Just, uh, can’t wait for this shit to be over.”

“You say it every function!” Gladio grins, hoisting his glass.

“And there’s not another one to be had until the Solstice party in December!” Ignis cheekily adds, hoisting his own.

“To _you_ , Noct!” Gladio’s grin still persists as the two men clink their glasses before finishing them.

“Right, and how am I supposed to join in without a drink of my own?” Noctis pouts, Ignis wiping his mouth the back of his wrist.

“Go chat up another duchess, I said!” he cheerfully advises, a smug smirk on his face.

* * *

 

“If you hear noises in the night, it’s merely the maids cleaning up. They tend to get started on party clean up right away,” Noctis explains to the three photographers in toe behind him as he leads them down the guest wing.

“Each of you has a bedroom of your own, complete with your own bathroom and staffer, if one is needed. Simply press the buttons by your bed, and an attendant will tend to your need. I ask that you do not wander out of this wing, however,” Noctis warns, gesturing about their surroundings. “For no reason other than you will meet my highly trained Glaives and they will not be happy,”

“Whatever you say, my king...” Theodora, exhausted by the day, is no less admiring of the man – merely much less able to express it with the same frequency as earlier. Gorgio says nothing, and Prompto barely listens; their day draws ever closer to its close, and with it, his chance to confront the king about the treatment of other Niflheim Lucians.

He analyzes every second, considering its viability as a chance to steal the man in conversation. He nervously licks his lips, and one by one, Noctis sends them off into their respective bedrooms with a heartfelt hug and a pat on the back (Theodora can be heard screaming into her pillow with glee on the other side of the door).

“That leaves us to you Adrian, I hope you do not think it was a conspiracy to save your room for last…”

“Uh…no?” Prompto nervously pipes up, though not before the implication of a bed causes him to yawn instinctively from exhaustion of his own.

And before Noctis can stop himself, he instantly finds his treatment of the remaining winner to be different from the others. He places the hand on the sleek door knob of the large black double doors that hide the bedroom beyond. He cannot help but smile at Prompto’s look of genuine shock as he registers the room.

The ceilings are high, their cool stone surfaces painted with warm fresnos, depicting the Sylleblossom fields of Tenebrae. The four poster bed is draped with thick black curtains, the rich fabric embellished with golden tassels.

A handful of decorative pillows adorn the surface, a thick, blood red quilt neatly folded across the entirety of the bed’s length. Expensive decorative vases rest atop various marble tables, the end ones hosting instead two ornate lamps, their shades also a blood red. The walls are papered in a warm, inviting gold, and the perfectly waxed wooden floors are decorated with intricate oriental rugs that accent the room tastefully.

Ancient paintings of Lucian mythology strategically bedeck the walls in aesthetically pleasing symmetry, the two large windows parting to a private balcony overlooking the entire city.

“Bahamut’s Wings….” Prompto whispers, placing his bags down and twirling slowly about in quiet surprise. “You _live_ like this?” his curious blue eyes meeting Noctis’ own causes the king to instantly look away, kneading his long discarded cloak in his hands.

“I mean, not to brag or anything, but uh, well…” Noctis sighs, trying to find the right words. “How about I just don’t brag at all, and I just say that there isn’t a single thing I can complain about in terms of my living arrangements…” he scoffs, Prompto placing the palms of both hands on the firm bed, and they sink into the surface, as if the mattress itself is feathered from heavenly quick sand.

 _“All my guests make that face…”_ Noctis subconsciously tries to assure himself that he relishes the expresssion every time he shows a new dignitary or foreign leader his guests quarters. But, the man realizes as he folds his arms, watching Prompto slowly survey the room with genuine curiosity, that he could watch the young man do just about _anything_ and be enthralled.

 _“Perhaps this is how crushes work…”_ Noctis mentally contemplates in an attempt to regain his sense of objectivity. The young king had never truly _had_ one before, in retrospect.

“Well, as I said earlier, you may hear the sounds of some of my staff cleaning from tonight’s party, though enough distance spans your end that you may hear nothing at all. That button there, by the lamp – it calls staff should you need anything, water, help, so on. Please, I want my first and only warning to kind and _just_ a warning. Don’t attempt to steal, or leave the guest wing, or you’ll find yourself in a lot of pain,”

Prompto nods under the directions, holding his camera close to his body.

“Bathroom’s through that door right there, and if there’s anything you should need at all, please do not hesitate to ask…” Noctis cannot help but secretly hope the blonde foregoes the servants and comes directly to him instead. He sighs heavily. “In that case, I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you for your services tonight at my party, and I hope you enjoyed your time as much I enjoyed mine,” he stiltedly says with an air of finality of his tour. “Breakfast shall be served if you wish to join us, otherwise a member of my Crownsguard shall see to it you are driven back home either after breakfast or after you wake. Are you truly travelling back to Tenebrae?” Noctis furrows his brow, but Prompto shakes his head no.

“That’s good at least – I mean, we would have made it _work_ , but it saves us a ton of hassle…” Noctis knows how odd it must seem, to offer hugs and pats to the other but not to him. Yet he stands by his choice to avoid physical contact.

“Have a good night’s rest, Adrian…” Noctis holds up a hand in acknowledgement, his hand tight on the doorknob as he goes to close it behind him.

“Your Majesty, wait –! _Please_ …”

The nervous shout almost gets swallowed up by the heavy sound of the stone door, but Noctis pauses, slowly pressing it open.

“Everything okay?” he curiously wonders. His brow furrows as he enters, slowly closing the door behind him. Prompto stands there, jaw clenched, his own eyebrows peaked to a point in the middle of his forehead, and his fists are balled at his side.

“K-King Noctis!”

“Yeah, that’s me…?” Noctis nervously starts, but the blonde shakes his head before taking another deep breath.

“I – I’ve come to you today to implore you – to – to implore _you cease_ –!” but the words get caught in Prompto’s throat as his breaths shorten and begin to fail him.

“Adrian, what -- ?” Noctis narrows his eyes from confusion, but Prompto presses ever ownward.

“To implore you cease y-y-your uncon – your _unconstitutional_ t-treatment – “

“Adrian, hey…” Noctis approaches the young man who stands stock still, who does not even seem to register that the man comes ever closer –

“Of legal, law – law – law – law abiding Graleans w-w--within Lucian borders –“

The blonde visibly shakes and he does not stop, even when Noctis places caring hands on his shoulders to steady him.

“What the hell’re you talking about, do – do you need help, are you _ill_?!”

“It’s _tyrannical_ , and it’s _wrong_!” Prompto can barely utter before a sob breaks through his lips, silent tears leaking from his eyes.

“Okay, _stop_ – stop, stop, stop…” Noctis attempts to calm the shuddering young man, his hands still firm upon his shoulders. “Stop – stop talking, just breathe, calm – _calm down_!” Noctis’ firm, semi shout at the end of his sentence capture’s Prompto’s attention, and the young man jumps, albeit Noctis’ hands hold him steady. Both of them slowly exhale, Noctis’ features still twisted in focused, stern confusion.

“Please, _slow down_ , I cannot understand you…”  Noctis slowly commands, and Prompto brings his hand to wipe his eyes.

“The way you and your government are systematically discriminating against all Gralean citizens within Lucian borders is wrong…” Prompto is finally able to utter a coherent sentence. Noctis slowly lowers his arms. Prompto takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and Noctis studies the blonde before him, deeply, he studies the rise in his chest as the air in his lungs slowly stabilizes, the way his fists are still clenched at his sides –

“They’re being unfairly profiled, systematically discriminated against, and cast out of a society that once welcomed them, under _your_ father!” Prompto spits, and Noctis slowly crosses his arms over his chest.

“They’re having everything they’ve ever known taken from them, because of things that _you and your government_ are allowing!  And I get it, okay? I _get_ it. I get that Niflheim is a terrible country, and a bad place, but – but don’t you think that the Graleans here, in Lucis, know that better than _anyone_?! Why do you think they’re _here_?!”

The brief pause in Prompto’s rant is met with continued silence from Noctis, who runs a sweaty hand through his hair, eyes closed in frustration of his own –

“That’s why I came here. Not to take pictures of your – of your stupid _fucking_ party! I came here to beg you to _please_ reconsider what the hell it is you’re doing, because most of these people that your laws are hurting don’t have _a sixty-fouth_ the shit you royals do –“

The end of Prompto’s rant is followed by yet more silence from the king, interrupted only by Prompto’s continued shallow breaths. It would have one thing had his disrespectful rant landed him jail. It would have been an entirely different scenario, had his insults left the king no choice but to toss him out, banning him from the Citadel for life. It would have been not too implausible for Prompto to comprehend the idea of Noctis laughing at his subject’s desperate, emotional plea. But instead, Prompto, already frustrated and broken, instead stands before the King of Lucis himself, who merely hangs his head in a silence so infuriating that Prompto aggressively steps forward –

“ _Say something_ _you bastard_ \--!” he shouts, but his aggressive lunge triggers Noctis’ self-defense reflexes. The king, in a crystalline shimmer of light blue light, summons a dagger and presses it non-lethally, but threateningly, against his neck with a swiftness so sudden that Prompto gasps as he back hits the wall.

“You think I don’t know any of this?! You think I haven’t been consistently haunted by my father’s shadow since the second I watched the life leave his eyes?!” Noctis’ voice shakes with a rage that leaves Prompto paralyzed with fear, even if his grip on the blonde is somewhat loose and does not constrict his airflow – perhaps even desperate, in and of itself as well –

“You think I _just sit here_ in my castle, laughing it up while everything my father died to protect behind his _fucking_ wall _falls apart_ around me?! You think this is how he _raised_ me?!” Noctis’ voice raises in volume, and the forearm pinning Prompto against the wall tenses and twitches. He dismisses the dagger in another flash of blue, bringing his head into his hands. Prompto clings to the wall, however, even without Noctis’ weight holding him there.

“You think this is what I _want_?!” Noctis now shouts, the hisses in his breath an indicator of the emotional agony that plagues him. “You think this is how I wanted to spend my _thirtieth birthday_?! Being guided and harassed for every waking _minute_ of it, stuck at a _stupid party_?!” he does not care if it is uncouth or unking-like to break down before the man, let alone one he had just barely met.

“I’ve _never_ had a guest once thank me for opening up my home to them – _ever_ …” he tangentially adds, and Prompto registers their earlier exchange upon the balcony with an anxious lurch in his stomach. He is grateful that his body stops him from uttering the sheepish, _“And I meant it,”_ that he thinks, his mind begging to end this exchange, this day, in any way he can, the day he had worked hard for, and risked the livelihoods of everyone he knew to make this very moment possible –

Prompto wraps his arms around himself nervously, his own lips slightly parted in an attempt to catch even breaths through his mouth.

“You weren’t the only _Tenebraen_ with that message here tonight – if that’s even what you _are_ …” Noctis sneers, and Prompto visibly shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “I’m not an idiot, even if everyone else is, _Adrian_. Your hair, it's...That’s a Gralean blonde…” he continues, and Prompto stands there, completely frozen, his breaths so short and so quiet he grows light headed.

“Whatever your _name_ is, whoever you _are_ , wherever you’re _from_. Get out of the Citadel before I call my Glaives to escort you _personally_ ,” Noctis commands with such finality in his voice that the blonde is momentarily fearful that the man will skip all pretenses and arrest him himself. But after a few seconds of neither of them moving, Prompto collects his things, careful to avoid eye contact with the king before sliding out the door without another word.

“… _Ignis_ …” Noctis wearily groans into the cellphone he places against his cheek a few seconds later. “Remember what you said about me regretting you leaving my side today? Yeah. Congrats. You win. Yeah, scold me later. No, it’s got fuck all to do with the beard. But I do need _you_ , Gladio and Luna in my study as soon as possible. I think we may have a problem.”

 


	6. HOW CONVENIENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANNA YES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it just occurred to me that many of you are probably reading this and wondering where promptos silly playful nature is.
> 
> DONT WORRY!!! once he gets to know noct and the gang better, he'll obviously relax and become way more playful :>

_“You’ll want to put on something a bit more presentable for your father when he arrives, Noctis.”_

His pout has his already chubby cheeks puffed into prominent, rosy half-moons. The heels of his paint-covered hands smush his frown into the wrinkles of his narrowed brow and eyes. The sun is slanted in the cloudless, early afternoon sky, shadows casted off his dusty black Chucks, the loosely tied laces of which come undone even as he merely sits and waits.

_“You’re incredibly immature for a young prince coming up for fourteen.”_ Ignis had scolded him before Noctis left the gallery in a silent huff. The oranges on his canvas were oblong shaped, the mixtures of red and yellow and white upon his palette failing to mimic those in the bowl before them in reality. The grapes were small and misshapen, and when Noctis peeked over at Ignis’ easel to watch the other flick his wrist to finalize the curve of his banana, Noctis had realized he had not even left room in his painting for one of his own.

He hated painting. While the strings of the cello he already abandoned left his fingers calloused and strained, painting left him messy, constantly wet, smelling of rich plastics and pungent dyes.

_“You really mean to wear your same outfit used for painting to your father’s outing with you? He already sees you so little as it is, I’m sure he would prefer to see his son clean and not so dirty.”_

Ignis scolded him for a lot of things.

A thick, emerald green glob of acrylic paint dries into a stiff peak on the black pupil of the fading Kenny Crow screen printed on his shirt. His shorts are black, imbued with dozens of zippers and pockets, most of which are too small to have any useful purpose. Yellow handprints are now dried, where Noctis subconsciously went to rub his dirty hands on the first surface he could find. He clicks his phone. No notifications from his father. He sits on the Citadel steps, awaiting the parted gates, and the arrival of his father’s convoy.

He’s only five minutes late when the black iron finally swings to allow the Regalia through its breaches, thus making him an hour early in spirit.

Thirteen and a half or not, Noctis has no shame in sprinting to his father as he stretches whilst exiting the passenger seat.

“Good afternoon, Noct,” he softly mumbles, returning his son’s embrace and running a caring hand through his jet black hair. His full beard scratches Noctis’ cheek as the two pull away, and Regis grimaces as he takes in the sight of his son.

“The Astrals will, did Ignis encourage you to be the painter or _paintbrush_?” Regis chuckles, observing Noctis up and down, his hands on his shoulders as he pushes him away for a better view.

“Ignis doesn’t encourage me to do much of _anything_ …” he mumbles darkly, his long black hair falling over his eyes. Regis would have to have him barbered before his birthday.

“All he does is complain and nag, or find a way to tell me I’m wrong…”

Regis does not answer his sulking son. He softly exhales instead, comfortingly kneading the hand he still uses to grip his son.

_“I know you two are different in personality, Noct, but Ignis is not there to be liked, he is there to be a confidant and advisor, a voice of reason forever in your corner. Give it time, give him a chance. I think you will find comradery in him after some time.”_

Regis’ advice only seems to have petered out in the five years since the two had met.

“Well let us forget Ignis for the afternoon, shall we? I have not seen you in nearly three weeks!”

Noctis visibly brightens at the change of subject, and he nods and grins at his father’s suggestion.

“Yeah! How – how was Gralea?” Noctis’s slowly changing voice cracks at the upswing of his question, the two sliding into the backseat of the Regalia before the driver closes the doors for them.

“Oh, my dear Noct…” Regis sighs, his weary face growing stony as he reflects on his trip. Dark, damp, industrial, and desperate. The whole country reeked of oil and wet steel, and even on days in which the sun was out in full effect, the darkness of the endless metal structures blocked their rays, the otherworldly Darkness of Starscourge thick in the air.

A committee of world leaders from other countries had gone to the Niflheim capital to look into internationally concerning rumors that the military were conducting heinous experiments with Daemons and human children in order to forge super soldiers. Whilst no concrete evidence could be found to try the country on a global court, the things he did witness were no less unsettling.

“Let us say that Ignis is a topic you would prefer to avoid, and Gralea is one for mysef,” Regis chuckles, and Noctis purses his lips and nods.

“It’ll all be your burden to bear in days that’re sooner than they appear. Let us wait until then to discuss such unpleasant truths.”

The two sit in silence not necessarily uncomfortable. Flashes of downtown Insomnia filter their way through the tinted windows. The driver, ever silent, stops and go with the bumper to bumper traffic with ease.

“…So where’re we going?” Noctis hopefully pipes up. “There’s a Blitzball game going on tonight! Or the arcade, maybe?”

His questions are met with a contemplative silence from Regis, who clearly organizes his thoughts.

“The zoo, maybe?”

“Hmm. Well, Noct, and I hate to disappoint you…” he begins, his heart as close to physically tearing into two as possible when he notes his son’s sagging shoulders and dulling eyes.

“I’m afraid Gralea has not quite let me go just yet. There is a brief hearing I need to oversee at the Niflheim Embassy before we can really have the day to ourselves,” he solemnly explains, and Noctis’ eyes stare at the carpet.

“…Oh,” he meekly sighs, eyes still cast downward as he slumps back against his seat.

“I’d rather see you than put off our day together, even if that means you have to sit with me at the embassy for a while. I promise it won’t take long,”

Regis’ consolation is met with silent disappointment from his only son, who looks down at the hands he fidgets with.

“Trust me, it will only be a couple hours. Then we can get lunch, and skip to the real fun!”

“I guess,” is all Noctis says for the remainder of the car trip.

The Niflheim embassy is far less breath taking than that of the other delegations on Embassy Row. The steel, olive green structure seems more utilitarian than grand, and the sound of the doors parting through security checks makes Noctis recoil and plug his ears. The only reaction the sensory event receives from his father is the very subtle narrowing of his eyes. He must have known the sound well, by now.

Right away Noctis’ eyes dart back and forth between signs written in a language he only partially understands (Ignis had been teaching him Ancient Lucian, Altissian, and Gralean for two years now), and he sounds out the strange words under his breath. Hurried Lucians and Graleans rush about the facility, whose inside is no less decorated. Steel grey walls house lightbulbs hidden behind small black grates every few feet, and the floors ring cool and unpleasant under each of their steps. The entire room smells like copper and rust, and the further they slip into the confines of the embassy of Niflheim, the less Noctis truly believes they will be leaving any time soon.

The thought of this fills him with a dread he cannot shake, though the earlier words of Ignis prevents him from scowling up at his father and throwing a tantrum.

_“I’ll be fourteen in three months…”_ he thinks to himself. _“I’m the prince. I have to tough it out.”_

“They are in this room?” Regis asks in the guttural tongue of Gralean with such perfection that Noctis looks up at his father in surprise. An armed guard standing to the side of a foot thick, reinforced iron door nods before taking a set of keys from his pocket. The click of various metal locks unhooking, and the door swinging open causes Noctis’ hair to stand on edge.

A single brown table rests in the center of the room, equally plain wooden chairs spread out on either side of it. The tan metal walls have no windows or vents. A single light bulb, exposed, is screwed into a recess in the ceiling above.

“King Regis!” a blonde, broad shouldered man almost desperately cries of relief, the woman beside him falling against the table in relief.

“Ugh, the Astrals be praised…” he continues to breathlessly thank the sky, eyes closed. if the Astrals could hear him through the thick, oppressive metal walls, Noctis morbidly muses, hands in his pockets, then it truly was a miracle indeed.

“My son and heir to the throne, Prince Noctis,” Regis gestures toward Noctis in perfect Gralean, the young man understanding his name well enough to hold up a hand in acknowledgement.

“Please, Your Majesty, Your Highness – we have been working on our Lucian for so long, there is no need to use Gralean here, with us…” the woman almost pleads, both of them bowing low before the two royal men before them. It is only in this motion that Noctis notices the small hand clasped in the hand of what must be both husband _and_ father.

A small blonde boy, no older than four, twists about impatiently in his father’s hand. He finally gets his father’s attention, crying out to him in heavily distressed Gralean. His father mumbles back, and the boy lets his hand go. He looks up at the two imposing, dark haired men who tower above him before hiding behind his father’s legs, deathly silent and wide-eyed.

“Please, forgive my son, he’s – he’s been through _so, so much_ …” the woman insists, Noctis’ eyes darting back down to the little boy. What was there to forgive? That he had not bowed before two strangers, in a strange place he did not know speaking a tongue he did not speak?

It would be a cold day in Hell before Noctis ever let his royal title conflate his head where such thoughts ever crossed his mind.

“You have no idea how grateful we are that you heard our case in Gralea,” the father starts, his voice parched and dry from grief, relief, and fatigue.

“And how grateful we are to be here. We walked for _days_ , King Regis…”

It would explain the state of them, Noctis notes. They are nearly pitch black in dirt and soot. Their clothes, non-descript and ill fitting, are inconspicuous, so as not to draw attention to them. Their hair is wild and matted. Their son is covered in bright pink and red scratches and scrapes, his stunningly bright blue eyes worried and alert and darting.

“Indeed, I shall have you escorted to your temporary housing. Members of my cabinet will be there to assist you all in starting the paperwork and looking into jobs for you both. How old is the boy?”

“He is four, not yet ready for school – “

“How…well-adjusted is he?” Regis carefully treads with his words, Regis looking at him in confusion.

“He has been out of the program for two years, Your Majesty. He thankfully remembers nothing,” his father formally reports, his accent thick, though his word choice is rich and flawless.

“Does he speak any Lucian at all?” Regis kindly asks, the mother of the boy shaking her head no.

“No, but children learn. They learn quickly, Your Majesty. He – he will know it by Fall –“

“That will come with time. I would like to impart a bit of counsel upon you both, before I leave you to my men,” Regis firmly says, looking them both in the eyes they gave their son.

“I would suggest changing names. If not for yourselves, then consider giving your son a Lucian name that you refer to him from now on. We will guide you through the legal process to change it. Have you considered a Lucian last name for yourselves, at least?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. But we fear that our being here, in the embassy of our old country, it will shine a light on our trail –”

“There are many Graleans within this embassy who are very sympathetic to the underground evacuation efforts my court are making. Though if such practices were to be revealed to Niflheim, I imagine it would lead to very uncomfortable negotiations. Still, I would be careful who you reveal the entirety of your emigration story to. Otherwise, you are away from Niflheim, and safe behind my wall and borders. I am afraid I must depart with my son as we have other matters to attend to, but we will be in future correspondence until you find your place,”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” they both plead with such genuine desperation in their voices that Noctis cannot help but frown; the own abandonment he felt in the ways of his father is due to the love he gives to the people. The door behind them opens, and uniformed Glaives help assist the family in hushed voices, Regis rubbing his forehead with closed eyes before looking down at his son.

“See? I told you it would only take but a moment.”

* * *

 

**Six Months Prior to Prompto’s Capture**

“Now let me ask you this, my dear Titus. Does your _King_ know you are here right now, sitting across from my even _dearer_ Emperor Aldercapt, Elderflower wine in your glass, your stomach full with only the finest of feasts the Kingdom of Niflheim has to offer?”

Ardyn’s question is a laced in mockery, a joke fogged behind the thinnest of polite pleasantries. The only thing that claws at the purse-lipped Lucian’s stomach tighter than his teasing words is the spiraling glint of madness in his Amber eyes, the almost sadistic mirth twisting his lips, the upper one glistening with the moisture of the wine he too, sips.

Titus feigns another sip of the wine in favor of an answer. It is bitter, heavily fermented, a Gralean specialty. No amount of alcoholic need rendered the crisp, tart drink a valid, inebriating solution. Titus hated it. Nearly as much as the man before him. Aldercapt is silent by Ardyn’s side, gaze lowered at the braised pork flank he slices with an elongated fork and knife.

“No, I am afraid His Majesty was much too busy on yet another _fishing trip_ to discuss the details of your call,”

“My, my dear Titus,” Ardyn tisks, shaking his head. His violent fuscia hair catches in the webbing rays of the orange setting sun. “Why, were it not for this exquisite bottle of wine brought up from the kitchens, I would almost say your bitterness is so potent I can taste their effects on the words coming out of my _own_ mouth…”

Titus places his cutlery down on the table. A Magitek soldier behind him to his left stirs, disturbingly human like in the way it readjusts the weight of its armor and the machine gun it holds in its arms _(“A mere precaution, my dear Titus. Lucians are hardly regular guests to dinner, after all. Considering the Glaives your dear King sends to escort us to the lavatories at your State meetings, I can only assume you would do the same.”)_. He attempts to ignore the activity, his body instinctively reacting via the slight look he throws over his shoulder, the small tug of his lips downward.

He is not bitter.

_The only thing more obvious than the war that looms between our Kingdoms is your hatred of the latest Caelum The Six have planted on the Lucian throne. Perhaps we can come together, and find that the ones who truly run the kingdoms of Lucis and Niflheim have a lot more in common than they have apart._

The letter had obviously been written for Titus himself by the very man who addresses him – the only one of the entire governing body who had spoken to him all evening. He wonders, fingering the edge of the invitation he keeps in his cloak pocket – if the emperor who still silently dissects his meat, was aware that his Chancellor considered him to be a mere garnishment on the side of his political course, a glittering, withering contingency – fool’s gold, compared to Ardyn’s gold _standard_.

_Meet me for dinner at our Gralean capital. It would be a shame to reveal the details of our correspondence via such traceable methods. Best not tell Mr. Caelum, however. Bring no men of your own, neither for protection, nor for negotiation. They are much less interesting company than yourself, Titus. Furthermore, they would probably not be so keen to see you on the throne of Lucis as I._

_-A.I._

_“Our correspondence…”_ Titus scoffs. Ardyn had reached out to _him_ , not vice versa. But now the correspondence truly was a shared responsibility, a fishing net of liability should their secret dealings be revealed.

_“I was merely accepting Ardyn’s advances in an attempt to foil and expose his plans, Your Majesty!”_ Titus had rehearsed, should his meeting be discovered. _“What if this is all an attempt to lure me from under Lucian protection due to my actions taken against their people as of late?”_

Titus’ heart rate accelerates in his throat, causing him to sputter on the sip of wine he takes. He clenches his hand around his neck and coughs, his inhalations erratic and shallow.

“Not used to it, are you? Just because Insomnia boasts such a metropolitan background, that does not mean Gralean niceties cannot rival that of your _King’s_. As a matter of fact, I’d dare to wager that they do, indeed…”

“Did you risk interception and Noctis’ scorn to talk to me about your awful _wine_ , Izunia?” Titus snaps, and Ardyn blinks twice, placing his goblet gently upon the table top.

“I already _have_ His Majesty’s scorn, but no, I suppose you are correct – I do have other topics I wish to discuss with you this evening…” Ardyn clears his throat and laces his fingers together, resting his chin atop them. “We both know the way you have longed for the Lucian throne, Titus. Since your _King_ was in diapers, cradled by the one before him, who tragically passed nearly three years ago,”

“What business is it of yours, my relationship with the King?!” Titus narrows his eyes, both from the nature of the topic, as well as Ardyn’s dismissive laugh and the rolling eyes.

“Come now, Titus, you must not feign loyalty to Caelum before me simply because we are _enemies_ …” Ardyn scoffs, as if matters of political subterfuge and manipulation were as forthright as any other conceivable topic.

“What of it?!” Titus gruffly exhales, air getting caught in his quickly reddening cheeks.

“Hear me out, my dear Titus –“

“Don’t talk to me as if you know me – “

“Oh, but I do, dear Titus, I know you very well…” Ardyn blinks twice, slowly, seductively, and it sends a shiver down Titus’ spine. “I figure we are in as safe of company as ever for me to reveal to you that it is _you_ I would prefer to deal with, in terms of who sits upon that throne,”

Ardyn masks his knowing smile behind his goblet, though the conniving joy in his eyes smile broader than his lips could ever possibly allow. Titus sputters, pushing his plate further away from his person. His appetite had lost to his nerves some time ago.

“Yes, I mean that. Even given those rather nasty decrees you’ve been putting into place against _so many innocent_ Niflheimans...” Ardyn shakes his head solemnly. “I should have you know that any terroristic activities enacted in your land by people of my country are acting alone and not at all under the galvanization of either myself or Aldercapt,”

“Why have you not spoken out against the atrocities then, Izunia?!” Titus finds himself shouting despite his attempt to curtail his temper, though Ardyn does not grow defensive in the slightest. If anything, the lack of change in his demeanor only works to further unsettle the older of the two of them.

“Hm, I’m afraid I’m rather petty, my dear Titus, and whatever gives dear _King Noctis_ more hell to bear on his plate, I applaud in theory – not that he won’t just fish the stress away, am I right…?” Ardyn lifts his goblet to toast to his dig, his smile lopsided and handsome. No one else raises their own.

“What is it you want, Izunia?!” Titus shakes, he is so barely able to contain his fear, anger, and anxiety. Every second he indulges the other’s speculations and whims is another minute in which he is read out before the enemy nation in plain sight, risking everything, risking war –

“No, no, no, dear Titus – this is about what _you_ want…” Ardyn purrs, Aldercapt having his chair pulled out by a Magitek soldier before he saunters toward a large window, hands clasped behind his back. How long until he would weigh in on this up-until-now one sided conversation, Titus wonders, his eyes following the old man in his steps.

“Listen to me – I am no monster. I do not want to see the destruction of Lucis – not nearly the way you and your dear king seem to think. I do not like the man. _You_ do not like the man. But I must say I am rather fond of Lucis. I long for a more temperate climate between our two nations just as much as you, and let me tell you, it is not just The Six who can change and determine the fate of us all,”

“…What are you suggesting?” Titus deliberately allows the gruff question to slip from his rattling teeth after a near minute of silence, though Ardyn’s expectant answer to his question nearly clips the tail end of it.

“I am suggesting a coup. An ousting. A bit of an unofficial abdication, if you will.”

Titus shakes his head, his breaths shallow and short. His knuckles are white as he grips the edges of the cool steel table at which they sit, and the Magitek soldier behind him goes to illuminate the chandelier above their heads.

“I cannot. I cannot do it.” Titus shakes his head, but Ardyn cuts into his statement once more.

“Oh, I think you _can_ , dear Titus, I think you can, and I think you are even _willing_ to. I think you are afraid, is all,”

Ardyn allows the man his seconds of silence before continuing without either confirmation or denial.

“Allow my men and armies to march unopposed into Lucis, and we shall have the King on his knees, his head in my hands, the Line of Lucis severed once and for all,”

“You take me for such a fool that you think I, the Prime Minister of Lucis, would allow the Chancellor of Niflheim to see to my country’s end with no resistance, all agreed upon over a wine tasting?!”

“I hear no mourning over the theoretical loss of your king…” Ardyn continues, his dazzling smile only filling Titus with more silent rage.

“I suppose the deal is rather one sided, as of now…” Ardyn contemplatively utters under his breath at Titus’ continued silence.

“In what way are Lucian interests at all fulfilled by your proposal?!”

“Well, Lucis has a new _King_ , for one,” Ardyn grins at the unmissable wave of pleasure that courses through Titus due to the mere implication. “A better, more competent ruler, the long-overdue reverence of the one who should have been upon that damn throne all along, if you ask me – but no one usually _does_ …”

“You mean to tell me –“

“I mean to say that if you allow my armies to march into Lucis, allow us to sweep out a few regal cobwebs from that Citadel, we’d see yourself as King of Lucis, and peace between our nations. _What ever_ is the Prime Minister to do, after all, when his country occupied by Niflheim, the last King of the Lucis Caelum line sadly perished? Why, he _assumes the crown_ , does he not?”

Ardyn’s grin grows the largest it has all evening. He can read Drautos’ silent agreement – he merely longs to hear it.

“I don’t understand what the hang up is, dear Titus. You have the perfect backdrop to assume the throne, we have occupied territory for only a short while, allowing us to procure what Lucian resources we need to strengthen our Magitek infantry, and you have _much better_ diplomatic ties between our two nations. Frankly, the only thing stopping this from being a signed, done deal, is – _well_ , if I have to explain why I’d prefer our little arrangement to not be memorialized in writing, then perhaps you’re more ill-suited for the throne than I assumed…”

Ardyn knows he has won. The smallest, most untraceable, subtle inclination of Titus’ head signals his agreement to the plan. Ardyn clasps his hands together in delight.

“Now I suggest saying nothing to anyone. Not a _word_. Whomever you believe you can trust within Lucis is no longer where you place your loyalties. Even the slightest drop of gossip will illuminate a treasure map of infidelity and cunning – there’s a reason why they call the Caelum line the Children of Light, and it has nothing to do with their role in eliminating the Star Scourge…” Ardyn nods, but Titus waves his hand.

“Loyalties?! Do you mean to tell me Lucis will not be mine to rule, once I am upon the throne –?!“

“Settle down, the kingdom shall be yours in full once we have drained energy from the Astral Shard in Leide. We cannot just leave after murdering your King, things must look _natural_ , after all…” Ardyn casually suggests, clearly unperturbed at Titus’ tentative agreement. “I suggest biding your time, warming up to the King until the time comes. Do not contact me. I will find ways to tell you how far along the plan is in ways you absolutely cannot mistake as being from any other,” Ardyn clarifies, and Titus shakes, his nerves settling in once more.

“Though understand, any suspicious actions from yourself will unfortunately mean the end of our business relations, and I imagine they will not be a pleasant severing,” Ardyn nods, though Titus rises to take his leave.

“When will I hear from you again?! When will I know that things are still going according to our discussion tonight?!”

“Settle down, in due time,” Ardyn coos, though Titus tears away through the doors, the slamming of other, heavy metal ones down the hall heard in his uninhibited stride toward the exit of the fortress.

“My, it’s almost as if this is Titus’ first underground corrupt dealing,” Ardyn rolls his eyes and places his hands on his hips, laughing humorously.

“You idiot! You promised him the throne when we have already promised it to Ravus!” Aldercapt shouts with such forceful percussion that the words themselves must have built up an impressive amount of pressure in the duration of his silence.

“No, no, no, we promised Ravus the _Ring of the Lucii_. Am I the _only_ one keeping track of all of this?!” Ardyn twists with mock indignation, ignoring Aldercapt’s disgruntled mumblings.

“I mean, _Gosh_ , my dear Aldercapt –“

“Don’t _call_ me that –!”

“Here I am, having negotiated the downfall of both Tenebrae and Lucis, the end of the lines of Oracle and King, and all you can do is belittle me over such minutae as the Ring of the Lucii…” Ardyn sneers, shaking his head. “At least have a bit more faith in me than _that_.”

* * *

 

By the time Ignis, Gladio, and Luna arrive in Noctis’ barely lit study, the man had finally stopped shaking. His body language is no less relaxed, however, and he slowly paces in a circle, his eyes cloudy with thought. Luna, who peeks her silvery head through the door with a careful look, pushes it open slowly further.

“…Noctis?” she softly calls, the man she addresses waving her in with a silent hand. She treads in carefully, her steps light, though Ignis wastes no time in striding into the room, Gladio on his heels.

“What in the world is going _on_ , Noct?!”

“Ignis, I need you to get the papers and application on that blonde from Tenebrae,” Noctis instantly commands, the others granted no preamble of explanation or even casual acknowledgment of their presence.

“The files and the background check were handled by Drautos and his men, Your Majesty,” Ignis darkly sighs, folding his arms. “I told you the Kingsglaive was much too busy with the security of the celebration to read over potential photographers, and seeing as it was Parliament’s idea to host the competition in the first place, we all agreed it would not be unwise to forfeit some of the planning load unto them. You were in the room when we had the _weeks_ of logistical discussion leading up to this event, Noctis,”

“How long until we can receive this paperwork?!” Noctis scathingly continues, Ignis closing his eyes and exhaling deeply before replying.

“I will meet with Drautos personally for access to those files first thing in the morning, Noct.”

“Gladio, did you notice anything weird surrounding the birthday party today? Any attempts at assassination, or infiltration?” Noctis pointedly continues, his features heavy with stress and a seething anger.

“No, I would have told you about anything serious,” Gladio’s usual friendly, casual demeanor meets Noctis’ in his seriousness, their brows furrowed in stern concentration. “Apart from a few attempted drunk party crashers, but nothing malicious.”

“Noctis, what ever is going on?” Luna asks, a light trench coat covering her night gown. “Do you mean to give us further details so we may truly be of help, or does the intention to delegate orders with no context better suit your style?!”

“Luna, I – I –“ Noctis chokes on his words, seeing her, for some strange reason, bringing it all to a head. Perhaps it was the similarity of her words with that of the other man’s that draws his mind blank, and his decision making senses useless.

“You were fine as we departed for bed!” she forcefully adds, though not without concern for her friend.

“Is this an issue of a public evacuation situation? Do I need to put the Glaives on alert?” Gladio wonders, but Noctis slowly shakes his head, supporting his once again shaking frame on one of his many work desks, sprawling with paper work.

“I have scans of the passports of each of the contestants in my office, I am realizing, but sadly that is it – “ Ignis explains, angling his head down to observe Noctis, whose hand grips the desk. “Now would you _please_ enlighten us as to why you are in such a state while I go grab them?!” Ignis concernedly orders before leaving, Luna’s nervous expression slacking into a comforting one as she places her hands on Noctis’ shoulders. The man brings his own hands to run down Luna’s arms, grateful for the warming gesture. He lets her go to pull out a chair, motioning for her to sit.

“We’re _fine_ , Noct, just tell us what’s goin’ on,” Gladio grumbles before Noctis goes to leave the study in order to procure seating arrangements. “He said there’s no immediate emergency,” Luna reiterates while Noctis wearily rubs his face, standing in place.

“I suspect the Tenebraen tonight may have actually been a Gralean spy…” Noctis exhales, looking up at Ignis as he returns with a manilla folder in his hands.

“You _serious_ , Noct?!” Gladio barks. Ignis listens in determined silence, his eyebrows pinched into the middle of his head. Luna mumbles a soft _“hmm”_ as she listens further.

“And why the hell didn’t you bring it up earlier to us this evening?!” Gladio hastily scolds, but Noctis shakes his head.

“I – it was _fine_ , nothing was out of order until –“ Noctis’ excuse is cut short as he quickly rifles through the paperwork, searching for one scan in particular.

“The three photography winners, one of them was from Tenebrae – well, supposedly.” Noctis scoffs, slamming irrelevant papers onto his already mountainous discard pile. “When I showed him to his quarters, he revealed that his intention was not to take photographs, but to also express his severe dislike of how I’ve been handling tensions with Niflheim…”

“Is that so?” Luna asks softly, eyes wide. “What did I tell you earlier, in the garden, Noctis? That eventually such decrees would garner unwanted attention from other avenues,”

“Well I already found it strange when you asked him where in Tenebrae he was from, and he looked panicked,” Noctis nods at Luna, who rubs her chin in thought.

“Yes, it was very strange indeed…” she adds. “Not to mention that he spoke absolutely _zero_ Tenebraen whatsoever, and didn’t have an accent…”

“Yes, but if you look in his file, he is allegedly a Lucian citizen, born in Lestallum, according to his passport,” Ignis pipes up, holding a copy of the scan himself. Noctis’ heart skips a beat. Even the low-quality, black-and-white image works hard to strip the intense blue of his eyes of their color.

“It is a shame the copy quality is too bad to make out a photo of the man – “ Ignis squints, but Noctis’s hand tightens around the paper he holds.

“I couldn’t forget a face like his if I _tried_ …” he whispers. “He had incredibly unique features, _very_ blue eyes…”

“Perhaps he is a Lucian citizen, born to Tenebraen parents?” Luna attempts to suggest, but Noctis shakes his head.

“Luna, his hair wasn’t Tenebraen blonde – nothing about who he said he was adds up – at all –“ Noctis’s voice quickly escalates as he flips through the pages brought by Ignis, all sorely lacking helpful information.

“Well, there were no infractions on his record, or else Drautos would’ve stopped him from getting through, with how much he hates Graleans,” Gladio shrugs, Ignis parting his pursed lips in surprised agreement with his colleague.

“He merely sounds like your average young human rights protestor. A little _drastic_ , sure…”

“Well none of you seem nearly as up in arms about this as I do, which is really damn confusing, to be honest…” Noctis sneers, his eyes darting across all of their faces.

“Well, there’s only so much action that can be taken at four in the morning only just having heard the news. Worrying will do nothing. Maintaining a cool, calm, collected head is what will help us find this individual without either losing his trail or drawing unwanted attention from Drautos and the rest of Parliament,” Ignis explains, and Noctis pauses in thought as he considers Ignis’s word. “As well as drumming up public concern at the thought of Niflheim agents infiltrating the Citadel itself,”

“Look, Noct, I’ve got my gears turnin’ too. I’ll sound roll call with my unit an hour early today,”

“As soon as Iggy gets the background check from Parliament later this morning, I want you and your Glaives to investigate every tip and location mentioned in his bio, okay?”

“Excluding Tenebrae, as we can logically deduce that his stemming from the country was a farce to throw us off in the wrong direction,” Ignis adds, Noctis gingerly nodding in agreement.

“Trust me, he is not of Tenebraen origin,” Luna adds, and Noctis nods before continuing.

“Even if his intention was just to pass along a message, he’s committing identity fraud. And as much I hate to admit it,” Noctis briefly pauses to look Luna in the eyes before continuing. “All signs point to him being from Niflheim, and if he’s highly trained enough to subvert the precautions put into place to prevent this sort of activity, then we’re not dealing with an amateur,”

“Noctis, if he already had you alone and did not attempt to harm you…” Luna almost desperately pipes up, but Noctis holds up a hand. “I – I just do not want him to face execution. I know how harsh the old Lucian Kings are in the passing of their judgement, even without such decrees…” Luna sighs.

“Which is why King Regis established courts of flesh and blood to oversee civilian issues,” Gladio explains, and Noctis rolls his eyes.

“And you see what good Drautos and Parliament do of not pitting the people against me and overriding my rule, right? And besides, who am I to say that he’s not just biding his time? If he’d gotten me here, _tonight_ , Glaives would have torn him to shreds as soon as his weapon hit the floor,”

“I’m afraid Noct’s right, Luna. The kid made out with who _knows_ what kinds of photos of this place. He knows the inner workings of the Citadel, and he’s clearly got a grudge, and is willing to put a lot on the line to make it known,”

“And he’s out there, his true identity or intentions unknown, to not treat this with utmost care and importance would be perhaps the most ill-advised move any of us could make…” Ignis finishes.

Luna clasps her hands in her lap. Neither of the three men were aware of the fact that she had a casual conversation with the young man of her own. Finding it humorous that the he had stumbled so horribly within their previous conversation, she had sought him out, much to his genuinely surprised elation. While it was true he was odd, stilted, guarded and uncertain, she could not say she sensed any evil or ill intentions from the man. Young, a bit lost. The blue of his eyes, she remembers, seemed coated in a hazy lack of focus, as if greater worries or concerns held the greater part of his cognition captive.

“Luna, I remember your words – his words, even…” Noctis sighs, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. Luna looks at him in earnest interest. Of all of the details the king had shared thus far, none so far had been regarding the exact details of their conversation in the bedroom. “But you have to understand that this leaves me no choice but to launch a full investigation,”

“I am aware,” she whispers, nodding her head. “I do not begrudge you your decision in the slightest.”

“All of these security breaches…we best hope neither Drautos nor the press get a word of this…” Ignis contemplatively stares at the floor, Noctis nodding in agreement.

“Another reason I must not brush this off. If I do, it’s more fuel for him – Noctis allows unknown Graleans to traipse in his castle, regardless of what sort of security threat it could pose for the Lucian people – “ Noctis imitates the man, and the room falls into expectant silence, as if everyone contemplates their own next personal step.

“Apart from requesting the background checks, I want Parliament’s involvement in this investigation to be as little as possible,” Noctis commands, Gladio nodding. Ignis drums his fingers against his bicep. Luna blinks and utters a soft, “mm” of agreement. “That is to say, not at all,” Noctis mumbles, Gladio nodding once more.

“The investigation will stay entirely within my unit. I’ll give the commands at attention first thing in the morning,” Gladio assures them.

“Morning – you mean in _three hours_ …” Ignis mutters, his eyes scanning across everyone as he shifts his weight. “Meaning, I suggest everyone gets their rest, as when seven o’clock hits, it shall be a busy day for us all…”

“Noct – Your Highness,” Gladio bows twice, once before Noctis, once before Luna. “I think I’m gonna take Iggy up on his good advice as usual,”

“Get your rest, Noct. There’s nothing that can be done until the morning,” Ignis places a caring hand on Noctis’ shoulder before kissing Luna’s hand and closing the door of the study with a soft snap.

Luna is left to sit in silence with Noctis, who leans slightly forward, hands clasped upon his knees as he studies the floor, lost in thought. Luna kneads his shoulder, and she cannot help smile as tension visibly seeps from his rigid figure.

“May I ask what it was he said to you, when you were alone?” Luna carefully wonders, and Noctis closes his eyes and shakes his head: he did not want to drudge up the grueling agony of feeling inadequate in the shadow of his deceased father.

“I’m sorry, Luna. I’ll – I’ll tell you sometime…”

“Don’t apologize,” Luna whispers, and the two sit in a long silence that almost leaves Luna to wonder if he had not fallen asleep until he inhales to speak.

“I hope that you understand that I would feel a lot better if you wait until we caught the kid before you left my protection, Luna,” Noct finally whispers after some time, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

“Noct, oh you sweet, sweet thing…” Luna laughs before rising, bringing him to rest his tired head against her clothed stomach as she stands by his side. “I will be under my own protection. Please do not allocate a single resource to me. I can get back to Tenebrae without issue,”

“I was just gonna say you could crash in one of my guest rooms for a while…” Noctis mumbles in a childlike pout, Luna pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“I think you’d find two of your guest rooms occupied, for Nyx would assuredly snatch Gladio’s position right back up if he heard I was away a day longer,”

“You’ll do what he wants, but not what I want…” Noctis petulantly continues, but the smile of his lips and his peacefully lidded eyes betray his anger.

“I waited ten years for you, Noctis. From sixteen to twenty six, you forfeited that right somewhere between then and my thirty-fourth birthday,” she slyly lets him go, and his eyes shoot wide open, his face flushing a light pink. “Besides, when have you ever been one to listen to anyone yourself?” she retorts as she stands in the door way of his study, Noctis leaning his head back against the chair for support.

“Maybe it’s got something to do with being Chosen,” Noctis half wearily, half sarcastically offers.

“Hmm…maybe…” she whispers, her ability to contain her worry below the surface not lasting her much longer. “I’m going to go to bed, Noctis. I shall see you in the morning before I leave for Tenebrae,”

But the words fall on deaf ears, for Noctis finally succumbs to sleep, the faintest hint of blue ghosting the room as dawn approaches.

* * *

 

“Nope! Sorry, Adrian left back to Tenebrae last night, never heard of ‘im or spoke to him again, what a shame –nope, he ain’t interested in no reunions, goodbye!” Atlas gruffly barks down the phone to the _Lucian Herald_ who had been harassing them since the shop’s opening at nine am.

“Shiva’s _Tits_ , those assholes don’t take no fer ‘n answer, eh?” he laughs, though Prompto rests against the floor, dejected and tired. His back rests against the stiff wood of cabinets, his legs drawn to his chest. The floor, cool and stone, slowly grows unbearably uncomfortable.

“’S wrong with you?!” Atlas snaps, Prompto silent and staring ever forward. His eyes are red from the silent tears he had stolen in between Atlas’ smoke breaks, as well as the lack of sleep from which he suffers.

When the blonde had finally arrived home at around four in the morning, his parents were up and waiting stonily at the dinner table, their hands gripped in the other’s. Their reception at Prompto’s story cycled between alternations of anger and worry. Even after explaining that he was careful to cover his tracks and his identity, his parents were still unable to condone his actions. Political injustice, his father had shouted, could swallow up the rest of the world in one whole gulp as long as it meant their only son was safe from harm. How long would it be until the King and his men had assumed his identity and brought him to trial before the world, a young man of Niflheim origin, in their current social climate?

The breaking point of it had been when Prompto stood to his father, eye to eye, asking him where he had the nerve to lecture him on not taking politically risky chances, when he and his mother had moved nearly the entirety of Eos from under their feet in order to escape similar circumstances.

His mother had to hold him back, his father had wanted to hit him so badly. While Prompto had stood still before them, they’d all seen the welling of tears in his eyes, the twist of his lips as he tried to contain his sobs. They had all mirrored his expression at that point of the conversation, and not because they were genetically related.

It was then that Prompto had realized, somewhere between his father openly sobbing into his mother’s open arms, between his punching a hole into the kitchen wall, that he understand a lot more Gralean than he knew. It was all he could do to watch as his mother cradled his weeping father in her arms, whispering to him in a language Prompto himself only marginally understood, and in a language that he certainly could not reply to him.

It was when the phrase _“get us all killed”_ slipped through his mother’s lips that he realized he would shift the odds to his own versus the world if it meant not having to stand across such an emotional rift from his family.

The argument had abruptly died, his parents storming into their bedroom and leaving Prompto an anxious wreck too distraught to begin to decompress the reapings of the previous day. When he stood outside of Atlas’ shop when the old man came to open it promptly at seven am, he had merely clapped him on the shoulder. _“Thought you would’ve been still chattin’ with His Majesty t’be able t’come t’work today,”_ he had teased, missing Prompto’s lack of smile entirely. _“Either that or in prison.”_

Prompto looks up at Atlas, his expression working to silently ask his boss of two years what _wasn’t wrong_ with him.

“Would’ve though you talkin’ to his ass would’ve knocked the pout outta ya by now…” Atlas growls, and Prompto lowers his head into his arms, shielding his face from the brightness of the morning light, from the entirety of Eos itself.

“I swear t’all Six of the Astrals’ _taints_ , if these sons of bitches don’t stop callin’ my damn shop after I already _told_ them Adrian don’t exist no more!” Atlas shouts as the shrill ring of the telephone cuts into the silent air, Prompto jumping and watching the man as he snatches the receiver off the hanger.

“What’n the fuckin’ _hell_ do you want this time?! Do I gotta submit an editorial about how _keen_ you pieces o’shit are to send a man to his grave early – ?!” but Atlas falls silent, his features brightening with wide-eyed shock as he gives in to the dialogue Prompto cannot hear from his position in the shop.

“…Oh.” The old man grunts, and Prompto’s stomach drops out through his feet as Atlas turns in place to look at him, his eyes not once leaving his sulking, curled frame on the floor for the entirety of the phone call. “Well then…right…I understand – y’don’t say, you _serious_?! Might – might not o’been who he said he was?! “

Prompto’s lips part as Atlas’ brow furrows, the man fidgeting with the pocket of his button down shirt, his tongue peeking through his thin lips.

“Right – right, right – not much I could say either way, if this search is subject t’the Crown…”

Prompto’s other organs join his stomach, his heart returning with enough of a vengeance to pound his throat dry with anxiety. He hangs up the phone, his hand resting upon it a few minutes before he finally relinquishes his grip upon the inanimate object, turning to face Prompto with a sigh.

“They’re comin’, kid,” is all he says, and Prompto nods once before he hoists his shaking body off the floor with a sweaty hand.

“What did they say?” Prompto’s voice isn’t above a whisper. They both need not clarify who the old man meant by _“they”._

“One o’his Glaives is talkin’ about there’s some confusion about the _identity_ o’one of the contestants ‘nd that they’re conducting a full investigation o’all the details o’each of the three candidates t’make sure shit checks out…”

“ _Fuck_ …” Prompto whispers, and he throws his head back in desperation, his eyes curled shut in anxious tension. It was only foolish to assume his interaction with Noctis toward the end would not be the subject of immediate investigation.

“I’m s’pposed t’keep it under wraps ‘nd not say shit t’nobody. Sounds like Prince Charming doesn’t want it gettin’ out he got _duped_ so easily, eh?!” he chuckles, and Prompto rifles through his cubby for a hoodie or hat, anything that can conceal his identity before he leaves the camera shop for morning rush hour Insomnia.

“Look, kid, the guy on the phone even made a point t’let me know that I ain’t a suspect unless somethin’ in here they find gives me reason t’be –“

“Yeah, and uh, dude?! There’s _tons_ of incriminating shit goin’ on here!” Prompto shrieks, splaying his hands out before him in desperation. His body heat rises as he realizes how messy of a trail he had actually left in his wake to fool the newspaper, and that he hadn’t thought of the aftermath of it all; he’d been so focused on just getting through and standing before Noctis that he didn’t think to plan for his _escape_.

“Look, don’t worry ‘bout me –“

“If anything comes up, tell them I lied to you, okay?! Don’t – don’t get in trouble for me, over _this_ , okay?!” Prompto pleads, stuffing all of his stray belongings into his camera bag.

“Look, I ain’t rattin’ ya out, and I ain’t throwin’ _myself_ under the bus, neither – “

“Tell them that I told you I was Adrian from Tenebrae, and you had no reason to assume otherwise,” Prompto reiterates, and Atlas folds his arms.

“Well it ain’t like yer gonna let me do anythin’ else,” he grumbles, and Prompto slowly shakes his head no. “Yer actin’ like I ain’t real good at playin’ up the helpless old man card…”

“You know this means I can’t come back, right?” he whispers, taking no note of his friend’s additional comment. For the first time in his two-year career at the camera store, the vulgar old man closes his eyes and sighs a resignated sigh of defeat. Prompto averts his gaze, his eyes immediately welling up with tears –

“ _Look_ ,” Atlas forcefully grunts, and Prompto looks up, thankful that mere seconds were all that it took for the old man to readopt his usual blunt demeanor. “I dunno when you can come back, but I _do_ know that this is what we were workin’ for,” he snaps, Prompto stock still as he listens to the old man’s wisdom for what may be the final time.

“I get where yer comin’ from kid, ‘nd it’s gonna _suck_ not havin’ ya around for a while. But maybe that’s all it’ll be. A _while_. Maybe they’ll give up in a week ‘nd forget all about ya. Maybe the Niffs finally invade and blow this whole damn _banana stand_ up. Maybe that _asshole_ on the throne grows a pair ‘nd listens t’what I’m sure y’told him last night ‘nd reverses those decrees so you can go out there ‘nd make history with yer photography instead o’cleanin’ my old _shit_ ,”

Prompto nods, tears spilling over the edges of his eyelids: the man had said _we_ were working for.

“The only thing that sucks more ‘n you not comin’ back t’my shop, or you servin’ a jail sentence for a minute when they finally _catch_ your _dumb_ ass, or us all gettin’ blown away by Niff ships, is sittin’ around in this shop, day in ‘nd day out, watchin’ the whole world just get _crazier ‘nd crazier_ until we’re all as fuckin’ mad as the idiots in there,” he points to the Citadel through the glass door of the shop entrance, that towers away above the entire city a handful of miles away.

“What did y’expect, kid?! To just _waltz_ in ‘nd change his heart, and he runs into Parliament with ya hand in hand, and the whole world just _changes_ ‘nd the decrees reverse, and y’sing _Kumbayah_ with the Astrals?!”

Prompto can’t help but smile a self-depreciating smile through his red, tear-streaked face.

“Look, revolution ain’t fun, it ain’t easy, and it _sure_ as hell ain’t free,” he snaps, and Prompto utters a shaking sigh before he barely nods.

“So you dry those fuckin’ tears ‘nd stand up straight, you hear me?! I may have given y’the flyer, but you ‘nd I both know you ‘nd _both_ know what y’feel and what yer capable of. It would’ve been like this whether it was me t’spark it or someone else. So you pack yer shit, stop yer cryin’, ‘nd you get out there and hide from the Crown like the crazy Niff son of a bitch I know and not like some _pussy_ – now get the fuck outta here before y’waste my time even further and they catch you at square fuckin’ _one_ ,”

He pats Prompto on the back twice as the blonde embraces him, even despite the smell of stale cigarettes and his general aversion to physical contact. Prompto looks the man in the eye one last time before he slips the hood of an old raincoat of Atlas’ over his head and darts out of the alley way door.

“Titan’s Speed with ya, kid…” he shakes his head, knowing that of all the many people his photojournalism career had pitted him up against, Prompto would be one he’d remember to his dying day; not that he could forget eyes as blue as his even if he tried.

* * *

 

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. There’s only so much I can say to either of you about all of this, and not just because I’m now a highly wanted fugitive who’s sparked an international manhunt from the Crown. Altissa’s great. Remember when I used to yell at you, dad? When you wouldn’t let me play computer games before I got my homework done, and I asked you when I’d ever need to know Altissian? Well, thanks for unplugging my keyboard and hiding it in your closet, because those four years of Altissian in high school have honestly paid off._

_Getting here was a pain in the ass. I forged a lot of papers and did a lot of walking, worked a lot of odd jobs in Leide giving fake names and backgrounds to finally earn that money for the ferry. Did you know that you could fit twenty adults in a Zu’s nest, or that Garulas can bleed for hours after you gut them? Not only that, but their steaks go for two hundred Gil (that’s the currency outside of Lucis, about seventy five Lucians) a cut if you can get the right kind. Anyway, by time I got to customs in Altissia, I couldn’t even keep my stories straight anymore. I’m pretty sure I had more Garula blood in my clothes than sweat when the immigration officer patted me down._

_It’s not all so bad. By leaving Insomnia I keep you guys outta trouble, keep you safe, keep you outta the shit storm I’ve started. It’s been a crazy two months. I’ve managed to convince the government here that I’m a Gralean refugee, that my name is Rex Steinbach. They’re much kinder to Graleans here than they are in Insomnia. Maybe you guys should move here instead._

_I’m working part time as a bell boy at this really swanky hotel where diplomats and rich people from all over Eos usually stay. No one recognizes me, but I’ve seen a lot of faces and shaken a lot of hands. Thankfully King Noctis and his men haven’t made any reservations. I’m also a Hunter part time – turns out Daemons are a dime a dozen behind the wall, and there aren’t a lot of people out there willing to take them down. There are Hunters out here, groups of people who kill them, that is, and they don’t ask questions if you’re willing to slay a handful._

_I go out on hunts three nights a week. I’ve learned a lot about guns, including how to shoot and clean one. My own kill count is getting pretty high. I like it a lot. It’s nice to keep people safe, to help those in need. Whole entire villages on the outskirts of the city have been able to secure safety perimeters with my squad’s help. There’s two guys from Cleigne, another woman from Niflheim, and even a Glaive from Tenebrae. He doesn’t recognize me though. He recognizes my Insomnian accent, but thankfully he doesn’t ask. Sometimes even Lady Lunafreya joins us, helping us kill Daemons and even tending to the sick._

_But through it all I’ve managed to pick up a lot of Gralean again. I hear it spoken all the time. I can’t wait to see you both again, hopefully soon, and we can speak it together._

_I know I didn’t give a return address. I’m sorry. It was hard enough making sure this letter got to you all without being intercepted or traced back to you. Once you’ve both read this, I please beg that you burn it. For your sake, not for mine._

_See you guys soon, I guess. Love you._

* * *

 

**Present Day, Prompto’s Capture**

When Prompto finally comes to, he wonders when precisely prison cells had become so accommodatingly comfortable. His bed is a spacious king, the sheets below him a warm cotton, the thick black of the down comforter holding him in place like a dreamy straight jacket. The plush pillows maintain the indent of his head as he slowly sits up. A small fire crackles in a wooden oven in the corner of the room, and the bare marble floors are decorated with rich red rugs, whose fibers are long and fur like.

Snow filters past the large window in a single, slow, continuous sheet, obscuring the Insomnian skyline. Prompto blinks softly and stretches once he finally fights the blanket for control of his body, and he is startled to see he does not have restraints on either his arms or ankles.

_“Six months away does things to a place, I guess…”_

He yawns, subconsciously surprised when the lifting of his pajama shirt exposes his stomach to the fire-warmed air. The young man had not brought pajamas, nor had he ever owned pajamas as nice as the ones he currently wears – a matching set of top and bottom, a light, minty green wool blend.

It is not until he sees a figure sitting in an armchair in the corner that his eyes slowly widen from realization. It is not a highly refined jail cell in which he awakens; it truly _is_ a bedroom. Prompto sits up, blankets curled around his waist and concealing the blonde’s toned legs below their comfort, statue like in his stiffness. Noctis uncrosses his legs, placing both of them on the floor and leaning the slightest inch forward.

The two stare at one another in tense silence, their eyes unmoving and unblinking, even from halfway across the room. Prompto raises his eyebrows and clutches the blankets tightly in his hands when Noctis slowly hoists himself from the chair. Deciding it is best to not make sudden movements in such a contextless situation, it is all the blonde can do to simply watch the man’s slow approach to the side of the bed. The carpets muffle the sound of his dress shoes against the floor, but that is not to say Prompto does not hear the pressure of every step the man takes, the only sound shared between them.

His expression is unreadable, his beard outlining his neutrally positioned lips, his cheeks stretched into neither frown nor smile. His grey eyes never once leave Prompto’s own blue ones.

“We have a lot to discuss, Prompto Argentum.”

The words are final, almost accusatory, and the dull, tense pain in his jaw from the day before (at least, Prompto assumes) is all that stops Prompto from laughing in his face. Whether it be from desperation, confusion, stress, or simply old fashioned humor, Prompto is only barely awake enough to process the events as they come.

“E – _excuse me_?!” Prompto whispers, and Noctis scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Has fourteen hours of rest and a comfortable bed not been _enough_ of an excuse?” he haughtily snaps, and Prompto instantly clears his throat and shakes his head, growing dizzy at the motion. Fourteen hours, if Noctis is to be believed – it still gives Prompto no context of time. The hazy, snowy grey outside is as indecipherable as Noctis’ own eyes.

“How – how do you know my name…?” Prompto quietly pipes, Noctis’ haughty, almost affronted smile returning as soon as the words escape his lips.

“You really believed that I wouldn’t eventually come to find out the truth about you are in the six months since I’ve seen you last?”

“Honestly?” Prompto cannot help but spit in response to the king’s pompous presumption, his eyes following Noctis as he shifts his weight to his other leg. “Yeah. I did.”

Noctis stops at the words, and Prompto watches as hints of surprise lift Noctis’ brow and illuminate his eyes.

“I was out of Insomnia not even twenty four hours after that night, Your Majesty,” Prompto does not mean to taunt, but he can tell by the way Noctis’ jaw subtly clenches that the older of the two of them takes the statement as such. “I’ve lived dozens of lives already in a handful of places, and it’s only now, that I’m here and I’ve told the other two who I am that you suddenly know even the slightest thing about who I really am –“

“The only reason you’ve lived to see winter and the new year and have not long since been tried is because my men and I turned the entirety of our efforts into finding Luna two months ago,” Noctis darkly spits, and Prompto’s nervousness does not show in his features.

“Well, with all due respect, King Noctis, you still haven’t found _her_ , either.”

Prompto means the statement in earnest. He is careful to keep his voice soft and unaccusatory, and when Noctis turns to meet Prompto’s gaze, the blonde cannot help but let the solemnity of his words reflect in his frown and in his still sleep-crusted eyes.

“…And that’s why I came here, all the way back to Insomnia. That’s why I’ve come to no one but your Glaives, requesting to see you, even if it means jail for me in the end…” Prompto looks at his hands that sit folded atop the blanket. “…Because I think I may know why.”

“And what interest do _you_ have in Luna’s wellbeing? What help could a Gralean _possibly_ be in finding her that I don’t already have at my disposal?!”

“No offense Your Majesty, but you _kinda_ wouldn’t have showered and clothed me and put me up in a nice room in your Citadel, even despite my wanted status, if you didn’t at _least_ wanna hear me out about both of those things,” Prompto’s head is still angled down at the blankets, but his eyes dart up to diagonally meet Noctis’. The other man scowls.

“No wonder Gladio decked you in your mouth…” Noctis mumbles under his breath, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. If Prompto does not hear the beating of it himself, it is because his ears still pop from the pressure of regaining his consciousness after a long sleep.

“I’m actually _really_ serious,” Prompto nods. “If you really think I’m a Gralean spy, why haven’t you thrown me before the Crystal for judgment before the old Lucian Kings?”

“Because finding Luna safe and sound is my ultimate priority,” Noctis sighs, and Prompto can’t help but mimic the gesture as the other man shamelessly exhales the last remaining thread of resolve that holds him together after months of searching endlessly for his friend. “And if that means hearing out a fugitive who’s already proven he’s more _un_ trustworthy than not, then that shows you how much I mean my previous statement.”

The two men look at one another, their expressions serious as they fall into a shared, minute long silence.

“And if I’m here, turning myself in to my beheaders as that _untrustworthy fugitive_ , then that shows you how much I mean _mine_ …”

“Perhaps we’ll have to agree that we’re both mad, for now…” Noctis grunts, and Prompto slowly nods.

“Luna – I – I watched Luna do a lot of good things before her capture, and if turning myself in helps bring her back safely, then I say it’s pretty worth it…”

Noctis watches Prompto as the young blonde slowly loses himself to his thoughts, suddenly susceptible to a vulnerability that supersedes that which comes with sitting before the King as one of Lucis’ most wanted.

“I guess we really _do_ have a lot to talk about, huh…?” Prompto sneers before scoffing, and turning to look out the window with a disgruntled smile.

A knock raps on the other side of the large double doors of the bedroom, and Noctis casts a look over his shoulder at the other before slowly sauntering towards it. Prompto appears to not have even registered the sound. Noctis closes his eyes and sighs before opening the door and slipping through it, closing it with a snap.

Gladio and Ignis stand shoulder to shoulder before him, their arms folded. The two men were hardly able believe Noctis as he insisted the night before to postpone the rest of the interrogation for the next day. They could only further gape as he implied their prisoner was to be bathed and put to bed in a guest room, and had volunteered to watch over him himself.

Despite all of their reasonable and justified protests, however, Noctis had commanded in a tone of finality only worthy of the king that his statements were orders and not requests.

“He’s only just awoken,” Noctis quietly explains, and Gladio impatiently exhales, hands on his hips. Ignis folds his arms, studying Noctis with frustrated curiosity.

“Right, I think it’s best, then, that we prepare a study so the interrogation may resume,” Ignis advises, but Noctis holds up a hand in protest.

“Not yet, Iggy, I – I think he may only be interested in discussing the details with myself,”

“Noctis you _cannot_ be serious,” Ignis immediately hums in disbelieving flatness, and Gladio furrows his brow as if he had misheard the man entirely.

“It’s hard to explain, but –“

“Noct, after the countless amount of hours and work we put in to _finding_ that man, you seriously mean to imply that you are going to join him for brunch and give him a cushy bed?!” Ignis repeats, and Gladio turns his back to his king, as if he cannot bear to look him in the eye.

“This has nothing to do with either me _or_ him, and everything to do with Luna,” Noctis hisses, displeased over the lack of trust his best friends and closest allies refuse to extend him, even if he cannot help but understand their position.

“And what, pray tell, does your absolutely _absurd_ method of approaching this situation have to do with _rescuing Luna_?!”

“You don’t know anything _about_ that little asshole, and you’re just gonna sit there with him one on one’n hear him out over _tea time_?!” Gladio cuts off Ignis’ question as he turns back around, his teeth clenched and eyes narrowed in furious disbelief.

“I don’t expect either of you to understand, but I feel like this is the way it needs to be…” Noctis stares down at his feet, fists clenched. He cannot expect either of them to understand because he _himself_ does not understand. He cannot say what it is about the feeling in his gut that causes him to approach the blonde the way he does. He cannot logically explain what it was about the look in his eyes Prompto had given him the night before that begged for Noctis’ time and attention, even given how utterly dazed and exhausted Prompto had been. Merely that it had not ceased to present itself the morning after, the immediate second when Noctis had lifted his head up to look him in the eye the minute he stirred in the bed.

“We took _guns_ off him, Noctis!” Gladio shouts, but Noctis shakes his head.

“So if you took them off him, he doesn’t have them. I’d rather take the chance and be wrong _here,_ than throw him before the court having not heard his testimony about Luna’s disappearance and be wrong _there_ ,”

“That’s not the part that confuses us, even if it’s risky, it’s this insistence that you _coddle_ his ass!” Gladio shouts, and Noctis leans forward, a subtle anger in his eyes and voice.

“I’m not coddling him, I’m just not knocking the _shit_ out of him to the point where he can’t even hold his head up!” Noctis passive aggressively shoots, and the three of them stand in silence, Noctis glaring at them, both glaring back at him, before Noctis squeezes his hand on the handle of the bedroom door.

“He’s already sought me out with a message _once_ ,” he shudders at the memory of his birthday party, of their seclusion, of Prompto’s scathing words.

“I’m not asking any of you to trust _him_. _I_ don’t even trust him. But I’ve had enough gut feelings in the world to know that this is simply what I need to do. If he finally gets the knife in my back by claiming he knows what’s going on with Luna, so be it ! It’s a chance I’ll take a million times over for her – !”

“You could drastically up the chances in your favor if you’d allow the hearing to take place with all three of us present – “ Ignis frustratedly huffs, cradling his forehead, but Noctis interrupts him.

“I will, Iggy, but not yet. Just – just _trust me_ ,” Noctis pleads, the two men glowering above him, the leather of their Kingsglaive uniforms crunching under their subtle movements. “I don’t plan on going through all of this alone, but this – _for now_ – I – I need your trust. Don’t trust _him_ , fine, whatever, but _do_ trust me,” he repeats, and Ignis sighs before removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“I promise I will call for you both when I know what to do next – whether that’s bring you in to listen to his story yourselves, or to help me cuff him and watch over him as he awaits trial,”

“I think you mean whichever one comes _first_ ,” Gladio snaps, and Noctis closes his eyes before nodding impatiently.

“I haven’t forgotten his status, Gladio…” Noctis mutters, and Ignis cuts into the conversation.

“I shall proceed to answer some of the inquiries upon your desk until you are ready,” Ignis nods before bowing to them both and striding toward Noctis’ main study.

“And I’ll be standing _right here_ , waiting for your _screams_ so I can jump in and _gut_ the bastard,” Gladio glares, Noctis touched that he has the man’s protection, even where Gladio most likely wishes he could knock sense of his own into the younger man.

“As if I wouldn’t be able to take him on myself,” Noctis rolls his eyes. “Trust me, I’ve already shown him once what I’m capable of one on one,” he adds before slipping through the door and closing it with a light snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A live snapshot of me writing this shit as I go: 


	7. A Little TOO Convenient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated with two chapters today! Be sure to read chapter six before this one if you haven't read it already!

“So I’ve been informed that one of my Glaives removed guns from your person?” Noctis' voice is casual, but Prompto, has no trouble parsing the suspicion Noctis fails to hide. "To what effect would you possibly need guns?"

“Well, I mean, I _kinda_ got all the way from Insomnia to Altissa and back by foot with like, _zero Gil_ , I had to have _something_ to stop me from being Daemon Chow…” Prompto can’t help but smile at the end of his semi-sarcastic, song like explanation. “What, you think I was coming to _assassinate_ you or something?”

"You'd dare make such jokes before your king?" Noctis folds his arms, eyebrows raised. "Because if you feel we have reached an end of these negotiations that we can make jokes, perhaps I should deliver my verdict...?"  


“No, no, I –” Prompto sighs, his eyes widening briefly with a sense of overwhelming before he brings his gaze back up and looks Noctis head on. “Are we uh – are we – are we goin’ anywhere _else_ , or waiting, or – “

“Nope,” Noctis lowers himself in the armchair he’d been sitting in as he was waiting for Prompto to awaken. The blonde seats himself in the one across from Noctis, albeit slowly and watchfully, as if he awaits Noctis’ permission. Neither his permission nor his denial come, thus Prompto allows himself to sit in the chair, his hands smoothing over the ridged fabric, chewing on his lips.

“…What about your Glaives? The other two guys?”

“What about them?” Noctis quietly questions, and Prompto parts his lips, inhaling as he attempts to find the words. Though after a few minutes of deliberating silence, Noctis accurately assumes what he wishes to say before Prompto can pose the question himself. “Look, you claim you came all the way here from Altissa by _foot_ to tell us what you know about Luna’s disappearance. The stunt you pulled on my birthday and whatever sort of criminal status is going to have to take the back burner for the _teeniest_ second while I hear you out,”

“It – it’s gonna sound kinda stupid, but when I was talking to the other two, I don’t think they were really listening…” that same vulnerability from earlier appears, and Noctis narrows his eyes in concentration. “That night, on your birthday, it – it was _all_ I had left, it was the _only_ way I had to speak out against what’s goin’ on in Lucis toward people like me. And even if it all exploded in this awful way, and I had to run away from home, and I may even end up locked up for good, well…” Prompto had not brought his gaze back up to Noctis’ for the entirety of his ramble. “I can’t say that you didn’t listen to me that night. I – I dunno if you remember – “

“Of _course_ I remember, I haven’t forgotten it since!” Noctis growls, and Prompto heaves a great sigh and runs his hands through his still messy bed hair before continuing.

“It’s kinda why I came all the way here, to _you_. I could have been a whistle blower, I could have told those two Glaives of yours everything, I could have told _anyone_ , and maybe the message would have gotten back to you, maybe not. But Luna’s a great woman, and she trusts you, a _lot_ , and I knew that if I’d approached anyone else, they would have locked me up and not even heard me out,”

“How do you know her?” Noctis asks softly, blinking slowly as he tries not to let his anxiety show in his body language or facial expressions.

“You mean apart from your party?”

“Obviously,” Noctis mumbles.

“Well, uh – that’s – that’s a bit of a long story…”

“I’m gonna assume you really _are_ Prompto Argentum, and not Adrian Castitas of Tenebrae?” Noctis cuts him off. Prompto nods, his head level with Noctis’ though his eyes stare unfocused at the floor.

“So then, I guess what my first question question is, who is Prompto Argentum? Who is he in all of this?” Noctis’ tone is still even, but that is not to say Prompto cannot sense his rising desperation.

“That’s an even _longer_ story, Your Majesty,” Prompto nervously grins, but Noctis rests his chin upon his fingertips.

“I’m obviously willing to listen, and you’re obviously willing to tell it.”

They are silent for many moments, as if Prompto debates whether or not he presses forward, jumps out the window, falling the dozens of feet below to certain death, or extends his hands waiting for Noctis to cuff him and show him the _real_ cell.

“…I was born in Gralea, to Gralean parents. I know that. My parents say I was taken away and subjected to some kind of federal tests, but that they managed to sneak me out of the program, and that they emigrated _here_ , to Lucis, with your father’s help seventeen years ago…”

“Yeah, I remember it – I remember it well – well, my father doing all that work with Gralean refugees, the embassy – that _godawful_ embassy…” Noctis shakes his head, clearly lost in the memories. “I was thirteen, and Ignis, my advisor – the Glaive in the glasses…” Noctis adds, Prompto nodding. “He was such a _prick_. He spent _hours_ forcing me to do the hardest stuff, and scolded me for even more hours when I _couldn’t_. I was miserable, but I remember going with my father to the embassy for the first time, and that was the first real time in my life I’d realized how lucky I am and how much I have,”

“Well, I don’t remember any of it, if it makes you feel better. My parents changed all of our names to Lucian ones, and King Regis granted me Lucian citizenship. Sure, I’m Gralean, both by birth and ethnically, but, well, that’s the only way, really…”

“Yeah, Prompto Argentum is pretty Lucian…” Noctis nods.

“Anyway, by time I entered Kindergarten, I’d already known Lucian as my first language, compared to the like, _barely any_ Gralean I understood or spoke, especially ‘cause my parents _weren’t exactly_ cool with speaking it at home. And your dad, King Regis, he probably only stopped helping my family when I was twelve, when we were finally settled in. My parents don’t even have accents anymore when they speak Lucian,”

“I see…”

“Yeah, and when your dad passed away shortly after I graduated, everything changed. All of a sudden the home I’d always known, I wasn’t welcome in it anymore,” Prompto deflatedly starts, and he lowers his head once again. “I’d gotten a summer job at a camera store, and that was all I had left of my old life. I’m – I’m a photographer,” Prompto stutters, and Noctis can’t help but smile.

“I’m aware, I hand-selected the photographers from my birthday, if you’ll recall…”

“Yeah, well, that was my actual work, so uh…thanks,” Prompto awkwardly chuckles. “And trust me, if I could be in my junior year at IU right now as a photojournalism major, I would be, but your decrees _kinda_ made it impossible to either study or work in the field at all,”

Noctis exhales heavily through his nose, but does not interrupt.

“And after a while I just, I got sick of it. After becoming a second class citizen, and watching others become second class citizens, I applied for that competition at your party. And I did it hoping that it would give me a chance to talk to you one on one, about what was going on, and how your decrees were affecting people. I knew that if I’d applied under my real name, my application wouldn’t have made it anywhere, being a Gralean Lucian, so I lied. I lied and said I was a Tenebraen Lucian instead,”

“And it was absolutely _abysmal_ ,”

“Well, I wouldn’t have needed to do anything that I’d done if it weren’t for your laws, Your Majesty…” Prompto softly whispers, but even in the gentle quiet of his voice, Noctis cannot miss the fiery challenge the young has meant to pose him for the entirety of the last six months.

“I knew you’d look for me after that night. I knew I’d probably be in a lot of shit if you caught me. And I didn’t wanna stay here and do that to my parents, or to my boss, or even to myself, so I left,”

“For where?”

“Are you serious?! I had no fuckin’ _idea ‘where’_ , I’d never left Insomnia since I was brought here eighteen years ago!” Prompto exclaims, smiling and laughing softly beside himself. “All I knew was I had to get out of Lucis. So I – I snuck out of a checkpoint by foot at the Lucian-Leiden border,”

“Bahamut almighty…” Noctis grunts, rubbing his forehead.

“Yeah, and uh, as you can tell, I’m _really good_ at getting ideas, but like, not at the actual like, during and _after_ part,”

“Go on…”

“I was out in the wilderness with no money, no map, no points of contact, and no idea what the fuck to do in general. Oh, and I was wanted by the Crown, just a little fun detail, there…” Prompto adds, and even Noctis can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“And still _are_ ,”

“Well, either way, I knew I couldn’t get to Altissa with no sense of direction or money. So I hitchhiked for a while. I got all the way to a settlement just outside of Hammerhead Garage. But I didn’t have money for any sort of lodging, so I did the next best thing,”

“ _Meaning_?”

“Slept under one of the garage owner’s parked trucks,” Prompto finishes simply, Noctis gawking at him with his jaw dropped. “So the next day, the girl there, Cindy – she put me to work for a couple weeks. I fed her some fake details about myself, who I was, and after a while, I managed to catch a bus to Galdin Quay, and I had just enough for the ferry,”

Noctis swears under his breath; if only he had known that the blonde had taken temporary refuge at the body shop of his father’s choice, it would have made for a much more easily open and shut case.

“But the ferry was down, and uh, I dunno if you’ve been to Galdin Quay – “

“Outta your price range?” Noctis raises an eyebrow, and Prompto slowly narrows his eyes in slowly realized offense. “… _Yeah_. So I just wandered around, hoping to find somewhere to crash, or another car to sleep under. Well, I ended up running into an Iron Giant,”

The light heartedness with which he says it stupefies Noctis, the blonde raising his shirt to his ribcage to reveal a purple, albeit healed, scar that strikes diagonally down his side.

“It’s a wonder I even survived, Your Majesty, but I did. And let me tell you, I have no idea how the hell I held it together long enough to stumble upon a Hunter’s Outpost. They stitched me up, but apparently they weren’t expecting me to survive. But I mean hey, I _did_. I ended up sticking around for a while. I had no money and nothing else to do. So I stayed on for about a month. They taught me how to shoot, and I helped them take down rogue wild life in exchange for some cash,”

“What did you tell them? About yourself, that is?”

“Nothin’, and they didn’t ask,”

“Did you even give them a _name_?”

“Yeah, Prompto,” he shrugs, glaring suspiciously at Noctis. “Hey, most of those Hunters aren’t too fond of you out there. They think the wall’s selfish, and that it’s unfair that the rest of the world has to live with Daemons, so it’s not like I was in danger of anyone turning me in to you. But yeah. So Luna,” Prompto sighs, and Noctis’ heart skips a beat. As interesting as the tale he’d invited Prompto to recount was, he had not forgotten the purpose of its telling.

“She did this stint for a few weeks where she joined different groups of Hunters, and eventually, we all went Daemon hunting. Did you know Luna can kick some _serious_ ass?!”

Perhaps it is the comfort of his story telling that allows Prompto to drop the very catastrophic and unfriendly pretenses that surround the nature of their relationship, but Noctis cannot say he has any intention to stop it.

_“Whatever keeps him talking…”_

“Uh, yes, I did. Luna and I have taken pilgrimages across Eos together in the past. Killing Daemons and tending to the sick…”

“Well, anyway, her and uh – well –“ Prompto hesitates, but Noctis makes a hand motion as if to say, “out with it”.

“Look, all of this is off the record, okay?! Whatever helps me find her –“ Noctis urges, and Prompto chews on his lip before continuing.

“She joined my crew one day, and I knew, I _knew_ I was fucked. I knew she would turn me into you but…she didn’t,” Prompto nervously finishes, and Noctis rises from his chair in disbelief.

_“What?! She knew?!”_ Noctis furiously hisses. He places a hand on his forehead, eyes wide and angled to the floor as he paces slowly in a circle. “She knew where you were, who you _are_ , and didn’t _tell_ me?!”

“I – uh – look, Your Majesty, I was just as shocked and confused about it at first…” Prompto grows quiet again, careful not to draw the attention of the man who only half listens, his thoughts still wildly racing.

“And who’s to say that it’s because of that that she isn’t in the danger she’s in now?!” Noctis growls, and Prompto freezes in the chair.

“What if _you’re_ the one responsible for what’s happened to her, and you’re just coming to me to throw off my trail – ?!” Noctis strides over, going to grip the blonde by his shirt, but Prompto throws his hands out in front of himself, covering his face.

“Why – why would I want to hurt her?! Did you not hear what I was saying before?! I’m _Lucian_!” Prompto chaotically shouts, the words freezing Noctis in place. “Look, the only stake I have in _any_ of this, is being treated like a person and finding her too,” Prompto scrambles to explain, Noctis breathing heavily, glaring down at him. “Those are the only two things I want from you, Your Highness. To be treated like a person and to find Luna _too_.”

“…Why wouldn’t she tell me?! She _knew_ I was looking for you…” Noctis spits, and Prompto cannot help but wonder if it is directed toward him at all, or if Noctis addresses himself.

“…I can _tell_ you why,” Prompto pipes up, watching Noctis nervously. He folds his arms and glares down at Prompto with a renewed sense of hostility, but does not deny Prompto’s unspoken request to continue. “She – she recognized me. And as I was trying to make my getaway toward Altissa, she sat me down, grabbed my hands in hers, and asked me, _‘who are you?’_ ”

Noctis turns his head to look out the window in thought, watching the snow as it descends ever downward with no sign of stopping.

“And so I told her. Everything I’ve told you up until now. Who I was, why I did what I did, what I said to you that night. And she told me, she told me she agreed, and that she already talked to you about it before I even did…” Prompto explains, and Noctis slowly turns around, arms unfolded, eyes wide with disbelief. No one else, not even Ignis or Gladio, had known that Luna too, had approached him about it all.

“She told me that you weren’t a bad person, or even a bad _King_ , that you didn’t support it, but that it was all so much bigger and greater and more complicated than _just_ you,” Prompto sighs, and all Noctis can do is blink at him and stare.

“I told her I wasn’t trying to hurt you, or anybody for that matter. I told her that I was willing to never return to Lucis if it meant I could leave it all behind and save my parents and my boss from persecution from the Crown. And – and she promised to keep my secret with her. A Glaive of yours was even with her, Nyx – “

“Nyx Ulric?!” Noctis breathlessly finishes his sentence, and Prompto gingerly nods. “Yeah. And she told him everything, and he promised not – not to say a word…”

“And I’ll _kill_ him for it…” Noctis breathlessly laughs, but Prompto cannot help but notice the man utters the words with a hint of fondness that he does not think Noctis meant to express out loud.

“So they helped me get to Altissa, where she was staying shortly before she went missing. She helped me get a place and a part time job at a hotel. And let me tell you, Your Majesty. I saw so many people there, even Titus Drautos,”

“Drautos –“

“Yeah. But I was only there three nights a week. I’d spend two more nights a week helping local Hunters fight Daemons, and eventually I got into a routine. Luna and Nyx, they left eventually. Altissa, that is. I dunno where. They didn’t say. They didn’t even say bye,”

“What’s this about Drautos?!” Noctis forcefully questions, but Prompto looks up at the man who still hovers over him.

“I’m – I’m getting to it right now – when Luna went missing two months ago, that’s all the papers said – that she went missing –“

“Because that’s all we _know_ , we don’t know where, or _how_ – “ Noctis snaps, Prompto swallowing before continuing.

“Nyx too, right?”

“Yeah,” Noctis wearily confirms.

“Well – and look – this – this, strangely enough, is where I don’t expect you to believe me – “

“Out with it, Prompto – !” Noctis growls so forcefully that Prompto jumps.

“Remember how I said I worked at an Altissian hotel?!” Prompto recovers, Noctis nodding and twisting his wrist again out of impatience from Prompto’s pause. “Well, one – one night – I was out on the balcony photographing the view of the ships on the water at night, and one of the rooms had a window just _barely_ open –“ Prompto tenses up and closes his eyes, clearly growing anxious. “And I heard him, Titus – Titus Drautos – he was communicating with someone about – about how the Oracle and her Glaive were in custody, and part two could begin, and I – I even captured pictures, they’re on my camera –“

“Drautos?!” Noctis repeats, and Prompto yelps from surprise as the man grabs him by his shoulders and wrenches him out of the chair. “Part two?! Part two of _what_?!”

_“I don’t know!”_ Prompto insists, his eyes wide with a nervous fear, for his whole frame is captured under Noctis’ tense and angry grip.

“But – the only thing – the _only_ other thing I know – “ Prompto whimpers, Noctis quickly cutting off the circulation of his arms. “I saw a flash of silver in the window, and another voice belonging to a man I’d never heard in my _life_ talking about how the Trident would be sealed away at the Disc of Cauthess – “

Noctis furrows his brow, rolling over his words in his mind, mumbling some aloud under his breath. He lets go of Prompto once he realizes he still holds him, apologizing gruffly under his breath. Prompto stands there, breathing slightly out of his mouth, his hands rubbing his sore, reddening biceps.

“Prompto…” Noctis whispers, the man pacing again, rubbing his forehead in his hands.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Prompto quietly replies.

“You _swear_ to me, you have told me nothing but the complete truth this morning?”

“I – I swear – “ Prompto chokes, and Noctis stops in place, his eyes flickering open, dark and brooding and contemplative and burdened with passionate resolve.

“You _swear_ , on your life, on the lives of your _parents_ – “

“On the Astrals, on the lives of my _children_ – !” Prompto nods, and both of them stare at one another, as if studying the other for a breach in their demeanors, a flaw in their plans, an ulterior motive in their actions.

“It’s just as important to me as it is to you that we get Luna and Nyx back safe. She – she and Nyx are my _friends_ ,” he almost begs, and Noctis does not let up his scrutinizing stare. “As soon as I heard it, I – I spent the whole next day thinking about what to do; who do I tell, how?! And I – I know they trusted you, that they were your friends, and – and when she told me that you didn’t support it _really_ …I – I knew that, even if it means coming back here, jail, whatever, I knew that if anything, I could trust you to take the information and try to find her,”

“You came back here from Altissa to tell me this…” Noctis repeats, and Prompto nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “You came all the way to Insomnia by foot and turned yourself into me to tell me this,”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“And just what exactly, did you think would happen after you told me all of this?” Noctis wonders from abrupt curiosity, Prompto scratching behind his neck. “Like I said, Your Highness…” Prompto starts, growing red and suddenly queasy. “I’m not really all that good with the during and after…”

Noctis merely stands in silence, grateful that Prompto allows him to. His heart threatens to jump out of his throat with each pump. His mind grows dizzy and blank, and he is elated, because he has a lead, but he is torn and conflicted, as the lead stems from the very same person after whom he’d relentlessly sought to capture up until Luna’s disappearance two months ago. It all adds up so well – Prompto’s knowledge of Nyx, his knowledge of Luna and his stance on the decrees, and yet it all sounds so contrived and crazy – his talk of Drautos and another mysterious man, not only alighting to Altissa unbeknownst to Noctis, but also directly involved in Luna’s predicament, as well as, if Prompto is to be believed, another…

“I must consult with my advisors before I can tell you where I am to go with the information you gave me – “

“Look, throw me in prison, decapitate me, let me go, I don’t _care_ , just decide it now!” Prompto frustratedly growls, catching Noctis’ immediate attention. “If you’re going to go consult them about what to do about Luna and Nyx?! Fine. But whatever it is you want from _me_ , just tell me now so you can move on to _them_!”

Noctis cannot say he is upset or affronted that the criminal man of Gralean origin stands in his place of residence and gives him orders. Their strange meetings thus far had already been punctuated by Prompto’s challenges. But when he turns to meet Prompto again, he cannot help but respect the resolve and conviction he shows, and he cannot help but let the blonde’s beauty soften his expression as he drinks him in.

Though he had been well groomed and styled on the night of his birthday, there is something considerably less boyish about him that permeated his look in the last six months. His face is thin and his features are defined, narrowed, as if hardened by the maturity of his experiences. His arms are muscular, his abs and stomach toned and defined under the influence of Daemon hunting. The young man who had stood and cried before him all those weeks ago stands before him now, confident and determined until the very end.

“News of your sentencing shall follow after I relay the details of your story to my colleagues,” Noctis stoically nods, and Prompto folds his arms, though chooses not to argue. “I promise I will not be long,” he understandingly adds, and even if he does not say it verbally, the gentleness of his statement and the softness of his eyes as they lock onto Prompto’s leave the blonde with a _thank you_ he had not expected before he closes the bedroom door.

Noctis takes a deep breath, leaning against the bedroom doors for support; as assuredly crazy as he finds Prompto and even himself, it would not compare to what Gladio and Ignis would think of him once he relays his verdict upon them. It is not that he leaves Prompto on the hypothetical gallows, he realizes as he starts down the hall, his fists shaking with sudden nervousness. It is that he does not want the blonde to be there to witness the verbal lashing of Noctis own he is sure to receive.

He enters the study, and instantly Ignis and Gladio turn to face the reason for the doors’ parting; they take a few step backwards to make an official end of their hushed conversation, and Noctis, weary and even the slightest bit nervous, steps forward into his own office.

“I thought you were going to stand outside the door,” Noctis nods in Gladio’s direction, who instantly jumps at the insinuation. “I only _just_ came to check up on Ignis, Noct –“

“It’s true,” Ignis nods, and Noctis brushes hair from his eyes. “What all did you hear?”

“Not a thing,” Gladio sighs. “I actually came to Iggy to say that if I didn’t hear or see you in five minutes, that we were going to tear down the doors and execute the kid ourselves for the regicide of King Noctis,”

“Well, I’m glad I chose to come out when I did, then…” Noctis raises his eyebrows, and places his hands on his hips as he exhales.

“And? Where is he? How did the interrogation go?” Ignis rather pointedly asks, taken aback that Noctis would neglect to immediately relay the details of such a pressing conversation. Noctis chuckles once before grinding his teeth.

_“Turns out I’m great at coming up with ideas, but not exactly with the during and after parts…”_

Prompto’s words ring in his head, and Noctis shakes his own solemnly. “Tell me about it, kid…”

“Pardon me?” Ignis raises an eyebrow, and Noctis clears his throat, swallowing what little saliva pools in his incredibly dry mouth.

“I – listen –“ Noctis fumblingly starts, holding up a hand for silence.

“Here we go…” Gladio glares, folding his arms.

“I don’t expect you all to like my decision or even understand it –“

“Noctis, _no_ ,” Ignis begins, slowly shaking his head; he knows what the King is to say without any more context necessary.

“Alright, fine – there are two details I need checked. Iggy, have you pulled up what you can on Prompto Argentum?”

“Yes, Your Majesty – “ Ignis hands him a folder, through which Noctis quietly rifles. “Gladio, can you hand me his camera?”

The man drops the heavy camera into Noctis’ open palm, the weight of which nearly causes Noctis to bow forward. He turns it on in silence, Ignis and Gladio instantly leaning over his shoulder to watch as Noctis carefully but quickly rifles through a seemingly innocuous photo gallery. Landscapes, mostly of Duscae and Altissa. Sunsets, flowers, and mountainous hills. Shots of gruff, dirty men and women engaged with combat with creatures of both day and night, the Daemons frozen in time sending chills up Noctis’ spine. Gladio smirks behind Noctis as they flip past a selfie the blonde had taken with Cindy, the Caelum mechanic.

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Gladio shakes his head.

“I’ve already been dropped _that_ bombshell or two…” Noctis sneers, but his eyes widen and he stops his rifling as a small image of Prompto arm in arm with Luna and Nyx appears, the blonde smeared in thick, sludgy blood, the corpse of an Arachne lying at their feet.

“Ifrit’s cock…” Noctis swears, Ignis and Gladio behind sharing a shocked look with one another. “He wasn’t fuckin’ lying…” Noctis whispers, though loud enough for the other two to hear. His fingers ghost anxiously over the forward button, as, sure enough, images of Altissa at night from a high up balcony show up next, followed by hastily and awkwardly shot slivers of the back of Drautos’ head in an Altissa style window, a strand of silver also in the frame. “He wasn’t lying about a damn thing…”

“Is that Drautos? Noct, is that Drautos?” Ignis hurriedly asks as the man hands the camera to Gladio, only one thing on his mind: Prompto, and how much time has already been wasted. He tears back down the arduously long hall without context, leaving the other two behind without another word.

_“Noct!”_ Ignis shouts, exchanging a look with Gladio before he grabs the file and runs after his king, Gladio in toe, camera in hand.

“Noct we _really_ have to work on your communication skills!” Ignis snaps, Gladio thumping him in between the shoulder blades.

“The _hell’s_ goin’ on?!” Gladio nearly covers Ignis’ scold with his own exclamation. But Noctis ignores them. He pushes the doors open, and Prompto jumps before hoisting himself off the window sil, where he’d sat watching the ever accumulating snow fall.

“What’s going on, Noct?!” Ignis repeats, glaring at the inattentive man, yet he continues to refuse him an answer. Gladio steps forward menacingly toward Prompto, the gesture missed entirely between both Noctis and the blonde himself. Everything is missed between them, in fact.

All but the look in Noctis’ eyes that look upon Prompto, the astonished admiration within them calling to Prompto.

_“You’re not lying,”_ they say, and Prompto’s glitter back in a sheen of understanding that leave Noctis taken aback with the response he receives in return.

_“I know I wasn’t. Would I ever lie to you?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit! 
> 
> That's why Prompto was so casual and semi-relaxed. He knew the truth of his words would come out and Noct would have no choice but to honor that. No matter what that means for his sentencing. He's doing this for his friends. Sentencing can come later.
> 
> next chapter:
> 
> how do Gladnis feel about Prompto and his story? Obviously Noct knows Prom is telling the truth because he knows about the conversation him and Luna had. They're gonna think he's dumb as hell for believing him, but it opens up a world of questions they can't ignore at the very least. 
> 
> But what does that mean for Prompto? The guy's still a criminal, and Noctis knows that. Well, they're gonna work that all out next chapter. I'm gonna actually leave my computer and go have some fun irl. I REALLY hope everything is flowing smoothly, and I REALLY hope you're enjoying yourself. 
> 
> let the promptis begin!


	8. Dinner For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANNA YESSSSSSSSSSS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard for me to write. Sorry it gets kinda choppy at the end. I just had to end this chapter and move forward with the story, rather than get angry and stuck on it and just abandon the whole story altogether. I was about to do that multiple times, honestly. It's hard to explain why this chapter is so hard for me, but it is, Thank you so much, Anna, for listening to my lamentations over this chapter, and for helping me make it relatively salvageable, and not letting me give in to my temper tantrum and just quitting.
> 
> Anything in [brackets and italicized] is meant to imply that it is in a different language. I basically made each kingdom have its own language, just like in real life.

“So?” Prompto breathlessly gestures to the other three men, his expression rife with visible worry. He instinctively backs up as Gladio’s imposing frame approaches him. Noctis’ eyes scold the blonde with a deliberation from which Prompto can parse as neither positive nor negative.

“…what’s the verdict?”

“Are you demanding answersfrom the King of Lucis…?” Ignis chastises with a calm so warm, it outright unnerves Prompto. He could not say either of the two Glaives left him very comfortable. Where the brunette relied on brutish fists, the thinner, sandy-haired man could slice a man with a slashing glance of his green eyes alone.

“Prompto…” Noctis’ own calm voice calls. Its soothing pitch is too gentle to imply execution at the end of it all, Prompto realizes with a twinge of hope.

Surely no executioners were known for their patience.

Prompto instantly turns his head to look grey eyes head on, but Gladio holds out a forearm to stop him as he rises from the window sill to approach them.

“I ask that you please come here and give me greater context regarding the photos in your gallery.” Noctis nods at the end of his command, locking eyes with Gladio to imply he should stand down.

Prompto swallows, jaw tensed. He can feel Gladio’s eyes on his frame as they watch his every twitch. Their watchful insistence files caustically through Prompto’s back, through his chest. Were it possible, Prompto would swear all three of them could see through him, down to his thoughts.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.” Prompto shuffles to Noctis’ side, Ignis handing him the camera. He hovers close behind them.

“Go on! Cycle through the photos, then!” Ignis’ heavy handed suggestion cuts through Prompto’s frozen, trance-like silence with a start. He nods quickly and erratically, pink tongue poking out between his lips, as anxious as the one it belongs to.

“S-sure.”

His eyes and camera are polar attractions, Prompto never once lifting them from the display, even if it means he cannot study their reactions. He allows the two men to drink in each picture in three second intervals, all whilst ignoring the way Gladio glowers at him in turn.

The presence of Ignis and Gladio bears a blatant change in Prompto’s demeanor. He is stiff and vigilant, careful to watch how often he speaks, let alone how selective he is with his words. Noctis cannot help but notice it all himself, observing the way his own silence fuel’s Prompto’s sudden withdrawal.

“This one – here…” Noctis breaks the silence, extending his index finger to tap the side of the camera. “Please explain.”

“That’s Luna, Nyx, some Hunters and I, we – we were protecting Lady Lunafreya as she went to heal someone sick with Starscourge in Old Lestallum,”

“You were with _Hunters_?! _You_?! Protecting the _Oracle_?!” Gladio scoffs, but settles for dark mumblings under his breath once he meets Noctis’ firm and unamused nonverbal command to stand down once more.

“When was this?” Ignis asks, his tone even, but businesslike.

“Late November, early December. M-maybe two weeks before they disappeared…”

“And you said you have no real idea where they may have disappeared from?”

“No, Your Majes – _Majesty_. Once we’d all returned to Altissa a week later, her and Nyx left suddenly without saying anything, and then about another week later, the papers and radio reported her as missing…”

“Now this one,” Noctis presses rapidly forward through the library himself, to the photo of a barely cracked window in which the back of Drautos’ head and a flash of silver can be barely seen.

“What’s going on _here_?”

“I – I was taking pics, like I said, the – the boats and lamps are stunning at night, and I’d finally gone on break. It was, I dunno – ten o’clock? Eleven? Once Luna and Nyx had left, I’d picked up a full week of shifts at the hotel. And that’s when I heard Drautos and the other guy, they were talking about how the Oracle and her Glaive were in custody and they could _‘begin part two’_ – “

“Where were you that you heard this?!” Ignis raises and eyebrow and narrows his eyes in disbelief as Noctis hands Prompto back his camera so that he may fold his arms.

“Well, uh…” Prompto nervously stutters, holding the camera closely to his chest. “I was definitely where I shouldn’t have been, I snuck onto a bit of extended siding to get some panorama shots. No – no good _a-angles_ , otherwise…” Prompto sheepishly finishes.

“So basically on a roof,” Ignis infers, and Prompto nods, his breath shaking through his barely parted lips.

“Is there any way anyone else could have heard this?!” Noctis questions.

“N – not at all, actually. I almost fell off the roof when I heard what they were talking about, and – the –the noise kinda got their attention. They started heading toward the window, so I jumped down onto a balcony and let myself in the building with a pair of keys I always carry on me when I’m working, ’cause you know – _bell boy and all_. But I ran up to the room they were in, and the walls are thick, it’s a nice hotel and there are always state officials coming through, and there was no one else sneaking up onto roofs with _me_ , so uh…”

“And _when_ was this?” Noctis further questions.

“Maybe a week after Luna went missing? Early January?”

“And you mean you’ve been sitting on this info for nearly _six weeks_?!” Gladio spits, glaring upon Prompto as if he were the most repulsive thing alive.

“What do you _mean_?! I – I didn’t know _what_ to do at first – !”

“You claim you care about Nyx and Luna, which I’ve never heard of a bigger crock of shit than a _Niff_ caring for a _Glaive_ and the Oracle –“

“Gladio…” Ignis warns, eyeing Noctis as he goes to speak, but Prompto, unaware of Noctis’ desire to end his friend’s rant, cuts in as well.

“I couldn’t exactly reach out to anyone! And if Drautos is really involved, it’s not like I really know who to trust in your government _anyway_! So yeah, I kinda had to come to grips with the fact that coming to _him_ would mean prison for _me_ ,” Prompto points to Noctis, who blinks at the mention, but allows Prompto to continue. “Not to mention the three weeks it took me to sneak here, in the _winter_ , because I knew if I just waltzed into Lucis, it would’ve been ten seconds before I was captured and on the chopping block! And considering how little _you_ two were willing to listen to me yesterday, I knew I had to find a way to get to King Noctis, because he would be the _only_ one who would listen, the only one I could trust! Even if he threw me in prison afterwards, I knew he’d listen!”

Noctis scratches behind his neck, growing hot. He can feel the weight of Gladio and Ignis as they stare him down.

“So yeah! Sorry if it took me a little while!” Prompto snaps with finality, his shoulders heaving as he tries to keep his breathing and volume under control. Gladio glares between the three of them, making a dismissive gesture in Prompto’s direction.

“His tip’s nearly a month and a half old, what in the name of Titan’s taint can we even _do_ with it?!”

“Noctis has still completely neglected to tell us the entirety of Prompto’s story as it is, and there are many details Gladio and myself are missing. I am afraid that without the additional information we are lacking, I cannot give any advice at this current time,” Ignis adds, and Noctis closes his eyes and growls, shaking his head as it all grows too much.

“Gladio – Ignis – meet me in my study – I’ll – I’ll go over it all once. Even if his tip is old, it’s all we have –“

“If it’s even _believable_ ,” Gladio sneers. “That piece of shit a _Hunter_ , touring with Nyx and Luna, gimme a _break_ –“ he abrasively pulls his shoulder back to veer past Prompto as he storms out of the bedroom.

“Noct, while Gladio’s method of expressing himself is far from one I’d personally adopt, I’m afraid I must suggest the three of us discuss his story alone before we decide what to do,” Ignis gives the man a knowing look before slipping through the door with less kerfuffle than his colleague.

“You all can doubt and say what you want about me, but I’m _not_ lying,” His voice, his body – all but Prompto’s eyes shake, Noctis’ own locked in Prompto’s resolve. “And _you_ know that,” Prompto’s voice is accusatory, but it is also nervous and fragile, as if he begs Noctis to believe him, more so inform him that he does.

“I’m going to discuss it all with my Glaives,” Noctis nods to Prompto, who, much to Noctis’ surprise, furrows his brow in anger at his statement.

“You can’t just keep going back and forth! Your Glaive may be an asshole but he’s right, we’re running out of time!” Prompto half pleads half shouts, but his anger transforms into shock as Noctis snatches the camera from his hands.

“Don’t you _ever_ think you are given the right to tell me how to rule or lead,” he snarls with such dark, rumbling aggression that Prompto freezes in silence. Noctis glares at him a few seconds longer before he turns around and slams the door, leaving Prompto without another word.

* * *

 

Noctis immediately closes his eyes and exhales.

“Come, Noct. We musn’t dawdle,” Ignis nods, and Noctis wearily massages his forehead.

“Yeah, we got a lot to talk about…”

“And what are we to do with him in the meantime?” Ignis nicks his head and darts his eyes diagonally toward Prompto in the other room.

“I’ll have Gladio station a Glaive in the room to watch him,” Noctis compromises, the two hurriedly, but reservedly, heading toward the study without another word. Both men wrinkle their noses and close their eyes as they open the door, the pungent smell of a recently put out cigarette assaulting their senses. The room is cool, as if it had been filled with the winter air outside, glints of frost almost visible in the weak sunlight that tries its best to seep in.

“Sorry, I stepped outside on your veranda for the break,” Gladio shamefully apologizes, throwing his thumb over his shoulder in reference to the French doors leading to a balcony on the other side of the room.

“Well, it’s a good thing you got one in, ‘cause I’m putting you to work already. Can you please see that one of your men watches Prompto while we discuss where we go from here?” Noctis forwardly commands, Gladio rolling his eyes and swaggering toward the door with his eyes narrowed at Noctis.

“Why not just let me watch him _myself_?”

“I don’t think Noct fancies another swollen jaw…” Ignis raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe.

“Please just do as I ask, Gladio,” Noctis wearily reiterates, his head inclined diagonally toward the floor, back turned to them both. The sound of shifting leather swinging open the heavy oak door and closing it causes neither of the two men to jump. Noctis lowers himself to sit on the corner of his heavy, polished desk, his fingers stroking slowly through his beard.

“I don’t think he’s all that impressed with Prompto,” Ignis sarcastically scoffs, Noctis’s brow wrinkling in irritation.

“Can’t say I give a damn what he _thinks_ about him,” Noctis waves a dismissive hand in front of him, though he does not look up from a sprawling of documents splayed before the man in a semi-circle upon his desk.

“And you, Noct? What do you think of him?”

Ignis’ question is heavy, almost baritone under the weight of its formal pitch. Yet Noctis cannot misinterpret the involuntary slip of curiosity that tackles itself onto the tail end of his question. Noctis’ lips part in silent thought, his eyebrows raising slightly as he debates with himself whether or not he answers the question.

His eyes blur out of focus as his own internal wrestling with the question severs his focus. He blinks twice quickly, his eyes readjusting to the reclamation of his composure. A thin, drab, document is the current object of his attention.

Prompto’s birth certificate, Gralean both in origin and in language, corroborates with the details proposed by Prompto in their earlier conversation.

_[Surname: Besithia]_

_[Given Name: Nils]_

_[Date of Birth: 25 October, M.E. 745]_

_[Birthplace (Country, City): Niflheim, Gralea]_

_[Father: Besithia, Johann]_

_[Mother: Besithia, Anne-Marie]_

_[Weight: 6.5lbs]_

_[Eye Color: Blue]_

_[Hair Color: Blonde]_

Noctis’ fingers indent self-inflicted paper cuts into their ridges, for he absent mindedly drags them along the edges of the thin document, their corners still sharp despite their age. The olive grey fades into a sickly, age-induced jaundice, the courier typeface composing the words upon the paper fading in and out where the ink finally gives into its own mortality, inanimate though it may be.

The signatures of the doctors and nurses bleed through the other side, and Noctis removes the rusting paperclip attaching a thicker, sturdier document to the other. The ornate stationary, a light gold embossed with the black winged skull of the Caelum family, immediately indicates that it stems directly from the desk of his father.

_It should henceforth be recognized on this day, the 17 th of April, M.E. 749, that the Besithia family have have been naturalized as citizens of Lucis, residing in the Crown City of Insomnia._

_TO ALL INTERESTED PERSONS:_

_Petitioner (name of each) for a decree changing names as follows:_

  1. _Nils Besithia_
  2. _Anne-Marie Besithia_
  3. _Johann Besithia_



_Filed a petition with this court the proposed names as follows:_

  1. _Prompto Argentum_
  2. _Livia Argentum_
  3. _Marcel Argentum_



_The court and crown order that all persons named above be recognized as such, their Lucian citizenship and passports honored._

_CASE NUMBER: LS012981_

_FOR COURT AND CROWN USE ONLY_

Multiple faded dark blue stamps of both the Crown and Court validate the decree. It is a twinge so painful and internal that he recognizes the dried, swirling signature of his father, as if the words themselves leap off the paper and impale him, bloodthirsty and haunting.

What _did_ he think of Prompto Argentum? Noctis grumbles as he places the neutralization paperwork to the side, setting into the blonde’s high school transcripts, verifying both his immunization and enrollment records. _Gorgeous_ , Noctis frowns, his eyes lingering on the small color photo officially taken the day of Prompto’s graduation by his high school. Such a theme had been ever present, even when he’d known the man as _Adrian_.

Through it all, Noctis had no other word for the man other than _stunning_. While it was no secret that, as globally mistrusted and disliked as the people of Niflheim are, the unique beauty they boasted only worked to reluctantly captivate the world. Prompto was no exception. His blue eyes were a vivid shade unlike any he had ever seen before, and it is not unreasonable to suggest that Kings came into contact with a healthy representation of the population of Eos. His golden blonde hair falls against skin dusted in dozens of tiny brown marks, a feature unique to him even when compared to the rest of the world. His body, while lean and only slightly smaller than Noctis’ own, is strong and toned. Not to mention the gentle way his lips would part and his eyes would soften when overcome with soft shock or worry…

Were the circumstances almost entirely different, Noctis has no doubt in his mind that he would have asked the man out to dinner a long time ago. Though even where Noctis poses no objection to silently ogling the man, he hardly forgets the nature of their interaction.

“It’s not exactly worth a damn what _I_ think of him, either,” Noctis scoffs, placing more of Prompto’s paperwork back into a plastic fan folder Ignis had compiled earlier that morning. “He’s definitely a bit strange, I guess,” Noctis contradictively offers his opinion, Ignis watching him silently. “He seems kind of _silly_ …?” he marks the end of his sentence with a question, as if asking Ignis for his opinion. The only silly thing, Noctis scoffs, is his preoccupation with ultimately irrelevant details about a criminal man he barely knows and has only _‘met’_ twice.

“I dunno. Who cares,” Noctis shakes his head. “Either way, he seems to respond the best to me. And that’s a reason why I took him from your custody yesterday,” Noctis starts with a bite in his voice so pointed, Ignis blinks and slowly directs his gaze toward him.

“And that’s because I knew I’d be the only one he’d be willing to talk to. And it looks like I wasn’t wrong, judging by what he said in there,”

“He was talking to us yesterday. I stopped him when he began to mention his journey to and from work,” Ignis corrects, Noctis bending his knees and squatting as he rummages through a cabinet in his desk. “It’s still quite bizarre how much indeed he does seem to trust you, given the nature of your er – _interactions_ …”

“Regardless, I’m going to have to retrain you on your interrogation skills,” Noctis snaps, and Ignis heaves a great sigh.

“And yeah – yeah it is…” Noctis adds, placing a bottle of Galahdian Whiskey – a favorite of his father’s – upon the desk, along with three immaculate crystal scotch glasses. “I don’t get it personally, but that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for it…”

“Noct, now is not exactly an opportune moment for alcohol consump – “ Ignis squints as the forceful shoving of a glass into his hands sends the dark amber liquid swishing chaotically over the rim.

“I wasn’t even the one who had the bottle in there,” Noctis longingly mutters, his eyes beginning to unfocus the longer he stares at the brown and yellowed label of the two hundred year old bottle he cradles in his hand. “He always tried to hide it…”

Ignis looks up from the still swirling liquid to observe Noctis at the comment, the other man sharply inhaling a sniff and a sob before he finds composure in an exhale. Noctis mumbles a short prayer in ancient Lucian under his breath, Ignis’ heart skipping a beat at the unmissable utterance of _Regis_ somewhere within the old hymn.

“Your father was a good man, Noct,” Ignis winces at the end of his attempt of comfort, for Noctis tilts his head back and downs the double shot in one go. He didn’t need Ignis to tell him that. He smacks his lips and grimaces, his long black hair swinging to and fro as he allows the burn to settle down his throat. If only the trajectory of his own reign didn’t undo the humanitarian work that ultimately drained his father of his life.

“I’m not saying you have to drink it,” Noctis utters with a hint of disgust on the edge of his voice, not necessarily due to the alcohol. Ignis blinks twice, taken aback, choosing not to confirm Noctis’ suspicion with words and merely placing the glass upon the table instead. Noctis glares out the frosted panes of the French doors, languidly folding his arms and cocking his hip to the side.

“Alright, Libertus is on asshole duty,”

Ignis and Noctis turn around to watch Gladio as he saunters in, the man closing the heavy door behind him with a surprisingly soft snap. “I see Noct busted out the old _Reserve,_ ” he grins, snatching up Ignis’ glass and lightly swirling the contents before downing it in much of the same fashion as Noctis had. “ _Man_ is it smooth,” Gladio sighs from pleasure, and immediately the woody, smoky scent of the sprit lingers underneath the chill of the room.

Noctis closes his eyes and brushes the pads of his fingers over the chilly surface of the black ring on his other hand. Dark orange flames billow fluidly into the black and gold, marble fireplace before which he squats, Noctis standing upright and dusting his hands.

“Right,” he shortly grunts, the words tangled in an equally short lived sigh. “To business, then, now Gladio’s returned.”

Even as Noctis recounts Prompto’s testimony to the other two men as objectively as the entire situation allows, he can only watch as their ability to suspend disbelief falters the longer he talks. Noctis tries his best not to let the skepticism that morphs their features trip up his pacing. Their raised eyebrows, however, flip his words with the occasional stutter in their arches. Their upturned lips conjure the occasional catch in his throat.

By the time he finishes, he is talking so quickly that it is a wonder physical manifestations of the words themselves do not scramble out from his lips in a tumbled heap as they crash against his teeth. Their silence only worries him, though he does not let it show on his face. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey instead, though Ignis is quick in his reflexes. He grips the bottle as well, forcing it back down against the table.

“Noct – ” Ignis goes to scold, but the expression he meets on Noctis’ face catches him off guard, stepping backwards.

“ _Say something_ , then!” Noctis roars so loudly that even Gladio jumps. Ignis slowly lowers the arms he had raised in defense at the start of Noctis’ shout, and Gladio runs a hand over his face in contemplation.

“Alright, Noct. Let me get this straight,” Gladio sighs, holding out the palm of his hand before him to punctuate his firm tone. “Little Asshole Adrian is supposedly a kid named Prompto Argentum who emigrated here under your father’s protection when he was four. _Prompto…_ ”

Gladio sneers the name, coupling his distaste with air quotes he fashions with his index and middle fingers. “…Gets bothered by Drautos’ decrees you were signin’ ‘nd decides he was gonna have an audience with the king of his own by masking his identity on your birthday last August,”

Ignis slams a glass upon Noctis’ table, catching both of their attention. The man removes his glasses, using the back of the hand that pinches them between the tips of his fingers to wipe the lingering layer of saliva and whiskey from around his lips.

“Little Asshole knows he fucked up, so he gets outta dodge, eventually running into Hunters joined by Luna and Nyx, slays Daemons for a few months while sweeping floors at a hotel in Altissa, overhears some spicy gossip from Drautos about Luna and her Trident, and he comes all the way back here to tell you what he knows about the whole thing,”

“ _Anything’s_ going to sound ridiculous if you explain it in such a manner, Gladio,” Ignis calmly explains, though Gladio clenches his jaw in defiance.

“Not my fault the asshole’s story doesn’t quite answer all of _my_ questions–“ Gladio shoots Noctis a judgmental look, and immediately Noctis grits his teeth.

“You’re saying I don’t have any of my _own_?!” Noctis challenges, throwing his hands up in frustration, pacing in erratic, anxious circles as he does so. “Look – I know – I _know_ how it seems, and I don’t need you two making an idiot out of me because of it!”

“All I’m sayin’ is that we can’t be hasty with this, Noct,” Gladio calms the edge in his voice, though clearly still has yet to be won over.

“I’m not being _hasty_ ,” Noctis turns his nose up at the accusation. “I’m – I’m just – like it or not, Prompto’s story adds up, and it makes _sense_ – “

“But can we really be _sure_ of this, Noctis?!” Ignis exhales as he poses the question, his mouth parted in both desperation and disbelief.

“Would it be unwise to confront Drautos? He hasn’t exactly been great at keeping up communications between the Crown and Parliament these last few weeks,” Noctis contemplates out loud, but Gladio immediately shakes his head no.

“You mean go up and accuse the man of back stabbery and treason because some piece of shit Niff says he might’ve seen or heard him? Have you thought about whether or not the photos were staged, or doctored?”

“Not only that, but if it is true that Drautos _is_ involved somehow like Prompto says, then us confronting him head on may cause them to retaliate against Luna,” Ignis agrees. “Then, we’ll have him to fight as well as the clock against finding Luna and Nyx. Word gets out to the press, and the whole world is dragged into conflict and war and panic, whilst we are still searching for them both all the while. We cannot have that. Best we do not even grab his attention, or otherwise alert him of our suspicions,” Ignis tactically rationalizes.

Noctis cannot argue against the older man’s logic, Gladio content enough with the fact that Ignis still does not support Prompto’s argument entirely.

“I gotta admit, Drautos has been missing and distant lately…” Noctis leans against his desk, and Ignis shakes his head.

“While I know we have not exactly had the best relations with the man in the past, I must say that I suspect Ardyn Izunia, the Chancellor of Niflheim, to be behind all of this. Perhaps it is a ruse to throw off our trail?” Ignis suggests, Gladio instantly turning to Noctis to gauge his reaction.

“Nothing in Prompto’s story points to that,” Noctis says, rifling slowly through the blonde’s application to the University of Insomnia Ignis had managed to snag whilst compiling all available information on him.

“Heh, of course the Niff doesn’t call out other Niffs,” Gladio spits. “I don’t give a damn what that paper says,” Gladio points a finger aggressively to the birth certificate on the table. “A Niff’s a Niff,”

“We cannot accrue Drautos’ attention on the matter whether or not Prompto’s accusations are correct. But let us discuss the matters of this silver-haired person…” Ignis places the camera upon the table, the photo captured upon the balcony on the display screen.

“Heh, don’t tell me you’re sold on the kid, Iggy…” Gladio rolls his eyes, but Ignis narrows his own in return.

“I am merely being _thorough_ ,” he clears his throat before analyzing the picture further. “I did not want to say this in front of Prompto, Noct, but I am wondering if the identity of the silver-haired man could belong to Ravus,”

Noctis sighs, staring wearily down at the photo. Ravus had come to despise Noctis since his childhood injury at the hands of a Daemon led Magitek soldiers to Tenebrae. His parents, the King and Queen of Tenebrae, had been ruthlessly murdered in the surprise attack, their kingdom invaded, Ravus and his sister forever imprisoned under their daunting watch.

Although their hold on Luna had lessened slightly due to the pressure placed upon the Empire by other world leaders, it was hardly noticeable; enough, perhaps, to tour Eos ever eight months to tend to the sick and injured, but no real abject freedom, all things considered. Whilst Luna had always maintained a friendly, intimate relationship with Noctis no matter the political climate, Ravus had neither spoken with Noctis, nor acknowledged his existence, since he was nine.

“He has not responded to our queries to help us in our search for his sister, after all…” Ignis contemplates, Noctis’ teeth massaging his lips in anxious, subconscious thought.

“Pryna and Umbra haven’t reached out to us either,” Gladio leans his head back, closing his eyes.

“Which means either Luna’s under close watch, or…” But Noctis does not finish his sentence. “Look, I know you won’t like this, but…” Noctis starts, and he grips the whiskey bottle to place it back in the desk’s cupboard.

“I think he may be telling the truth, guys.”

Neither of the other two men speak. Noctis’ eyes dart between them before he continues with his conclusion. “I’m not saying everything is completely sorted, or figured out, even. But I _do_ know that this is the only lead we have, and it makes sense, it all adds up. I dunno to _what_ just yet –“

Gladio chews on the inside of his cheek, watching Noctis carefully. Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed from stressful weariness.

“What is your plan of action then, Noct?” Ignis finally utters as he opens his eyes and looks Noctis head on again. “If Prompto is to be believed, which according to your last statement, is the direction in which you are choosing to head –“

Gladio scoffs, shifting against the doorframe.

“What next?”

“He – he mentioned her Trident being kept at the Disc of Cauthess, that this is what Drautos and the other – maybe Ra – _Ravus_ were discussing,”

“So now we’re just goin’ off the assumption that Ravus and Drautos conspired to kidnap Luna and Nyx, all on the word of what some Niff criminal is saying?!”

“And why in the world would you pursue the Trident before finding Luna?!”

“Look, it – it’s the only real location he’s got for me, okay?!” Noctis aggressively snaps at them both, brow furrowed. “You won’t let me confront Drautos or Ravus –“

“Because it is hasty and unwise!” Ignis insists, Gladio nodding in agreement.

“I’m going to the Disc of Cauthess to see if her Trident really is there,” Noctis nods, meeting silence from Gladio and Ignis both. “I’ll leave tomorrow. If his tip leads me either to Luna or the Trident, then…” Noctis sighs, meeting continued silence.  “Then I will pardon him of his crimes, under the condition he never returns to Lucis.”

“So you mean you’re going to abandon Lucis off his tip? And you’re already thinking about his happy ending before you’ve let either me or Iggy fact check this?!”

“Look, we’re already closing the gap with time – “ Noctis starts, but Gladio approaches him slowly, unfolding his arms.

“And you’re going to the Disc of Cauthess?! _Alone_?! Based off _his_ testimony?!”

“Well I don’t have much of a choice! I can’t exactly inform a whole unit of Glaives what’s going on, what if word gets back to Drautos?! Or – or anyone who might be involved in her capture?! Not to mention, if it’s a trap, they’ll expect me to send Glaives, won’t they? No way they’d expect the King himself. But I can warp in and out of any shit they try to set up, don’t forget –”

“How do we know it’s not him trying to get you out to the crown city so his boys can invade unopposed?” Gladio continues, Noctis narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“His boys – ?!”

“The _Niffs_ , Noctis! The place on Eos he popped out of to begin with!” Gladio sneers, Ignis rifling through the photos in concentrated silence as he slowly paces around the study.

“I guarantee you. Either he lures you out of Insomnia so the Niff cocksuckers can come waltzing in, or he lures you out so he can decapitate you out on the road and chalk it up to a Daemon ambush!”

Noctis shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“I have no other choice, his lead is all I have for Luna – !”

“If you must follow his lead, then please send another to search the Disc, Noctis! Do not send yourself! Send in Gladio’s unit!” Ignis insists, his fists balled and his voice strained.

“I can’t, I have all Glaives stationed and on call already, Niflheim’s been aggressive lately, it even looks like they’ve been mobilizing with those structures –“

“Exactly…” Gladio sneers, Noctis choosing to ignore him.

“I – I’ll make the trip short. Two days there, three days to search, two days back. A week – no one will even note I’m gone, the people don’t have to know –“

“And what do we do with Prompto in the mean time?” Ignis interrupts, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

“I –“ Noctis stutters with a thought. He had not given Prompto much consideration. “I don’t want him released, not until I either return, or find some truth in his evidence. He is to stay here, at the Citadel, under the close watch of you both. I want to know where he is at all times so I may continue to consult him on what else he may know,” Noctis nods, but Gladio, who grips his empty scotch glass in his hand, shakes his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe this, you’re _actually_ going for this,”

“What do you mean, Gladio –“

“You’re gonna abandon Lucis when Niflheim’s doin’ fuck _knows_ what beyond the wall, all based on the account of _one_ Niff criminal, while you leave us behind to _babysit_ his ass?!”

“It’s the only lead I’ve got for finding her, Gladio!” Noctis repeats for what he feels is the thousandth time, growling and clenching his teeth, as Gladio slowly approaches. “Everything he said adds up! Drautos, maybe Ravus, Luna and Nyx, this – this is all I have to try and get them back, I don’t have any other choice but to see it all for myself!”

“Look, just because you’re so _desperate_ for leads –“

“ _Desperate_?!” Noctis spits, affronted and even shocked that Gladio would dare to insinuate that he be desperate.

“Yeah, desperate. Let’s face it, you haven’t gotten anywhere with this investigation! You haven’t even gotten anywhere with his ass! And now you want him to stay here, at the _Citadel_?!”

“As a _precaution_!”

“You remember how things went last time you invited that piece of shit into the Citadel?! He lied out his ass! Who _knows_ what pictures of this place he got, who he fed the _intel_ he got, who he _really_ works for, what he _really_ did out there while we weren’t able to find his ass!”

“It – Ignis – please – “ Noctis turns to the silent man, who shrugs before sighing, slowly averting his gaze.

“I must admit a lot of what Prompto is presenting to us is very peculiar and fitting…” he starts, and Gladio’s lip curls upward. “But that does not mean Gladio does not have valid points of his own, Noct, I worry we are too rash and too excited at the thought of finally finding their trail, and I must admit, it’s not so unreasonable to believe that Prompto may have been reporting back to someone we don’t know about in the time between him escaping on your birthday and now…”

“It’s different this time!” Noctis insists, the volume in his voice rising as Gladio and Noctis stand inches away from each other, the anger emanating off their persons, their conversation a vat of gunpowder set to explode anytime via the sparks of their heated words –

“Doesn’t seem very different to _me_ , seein’ you’re still thinkin’ with your _dick_ because you want him _on it_ so bad – “

Before Gladio can even finish the sentence, Noctis slams him so harshly against the wall, the older man grunts and Ignis jumps to his feet. Noctis’ mind blanks, white hot with fury. He could understand their hesitance and suspicion. He could understand their lack of trust toward Prompto. He could even understand their disagreement with his decision. Noctis, for all of his shortcomings, was far from as foolish or unwise as his often aloof and lazy persona led his two best friends and closest advisors to believe.

The dig at what Noctis considered to be his most sensitive and personal point of growth, had hurt more than it all.  The implication that Gladio, a man he had loved and trusted for nearly three decades as one of his closest and most dearest relationships, felt that Noctis meant to throw his whole entire kingdom into turmoil over an attempt to sleep with a man he did not even know.

“STOP!” Ignis shouts, frustrated and furious in his own right. Neither man give Ignis the attention he deserves. A vein throbs in Gladio’s forehead, Noctis’ forearm pressing the man against the wall by his throat. They grunt, for it takes all of Noctis’ body strength to pin the man against the wall. It is not until Ignis’s forceful hand wrenches Noctis backward that his senses return to him. He nearly sends both himself and Ignis falling backwards, he stumbles so clumsily.

Not once do his eyes leave Gladio’s, both men audibly gasping for breath, Noctis still seething with fury. Gladio, flushed from the lack of breath of which Noctis had robbed him stands against the wall as the three men stand in tense, oppressive silence.

The fire in the corner cracks as it consumes a log, as if the blazing warmth is an eager spectator, the wood a satisfying concession for the show it alone witnesses.

“Gladio, please consider any decision you are about to make!” Ignis hastily begs, his grip still firm on Noctis’ back, rooting the other man in place. Gladio locks eyes with the advisor, the two men sharing a charged, but resolute, glare with one another.

He clenches his square jaw, threatening to pop it under the pressure his teeth commands. Fists balled at his side, it is a wonder that Gladio does not collide it with Noctis’ jaw as he strides across the study in furious lunges, wrenching the door open with a powerful swing.

The brunette makes to say something, Noctis tensing up; whatever he means to say, he can only assume it will not have kindness attached to his words.

“ _Leave it_ ,” Ignis commands with hissing ferocity, wrenching Noctis back with a jerk of his arm. Noctis stumbles backward, his lips parted, eyes narrowed, mind lulled with residual resentment and rage. Gladio slams the door behind him with such a forceful motion that their hair actively blows in their eyes, the room vibrating under the collision of the door with its frame. Ignis closes his eyes, exhaling shakily; he had no doubt at least the entire wing of the Citadel heard the commotion, counting his blessings that the Shield had somehow managed to avoid any aftershocks.

“Noct, I assure you he did not mean to imply what he did – “ Ignis attempts to comfort the king, but merely wrenches free of Ignis’ grip.

“Is this what this is?!” he growls, his voice gravelly and rocky, choking from the dryness in his voice. “You all think this is just me trying to get in somebody’s _pants_?! You think I would risk it all – my kingdom, my people, you both, my friends, Nyx, _Luna_ – all in an attempt to get my _dick wet_?!” Noctis’ shoulders heave as he exhales softly from his parted lips, glaring at him in stony, defensive anger. His eyes darkly challenge him, as if he waits for Ignis, too, to disparage his character.

“He did not mean it, Noctis. He is stressed, worried and concerned, nervous that even the slightest wrong turn could send Lucis toppling into war, or bring harm to Luna or Nyx –“

“So then what you’re telling me is that he doesn’t trust me to rule, to _lead_ ,” Noctis spits, and Ignis, for as much as he wishes he could, cannot come up with any words of either comfort or rebuttal. Noctis clenches his fist, scoffing under his breath. Although Noctis slips through the door with a much less shocking slam of his own, it is still one that leaves Ignis tense and alone in his study, more confused and ill at ease over the fate of Eos than before, when they had nothing to go off at all.

* * *

 

The snow, Noctis notes, majestically transforms into a sheen of sleet, the frozen rain flurrying diagonally to the ground like weightless, icy javelins. Stray flakes and drops of water freeze against the large windows that symmetrically imbue the right wall of the hallway, winter fractals gleaming purple and bright blue as they catch the light of the golden street lights many feet below.

The hallway is as warm as any hallway of the king’s abode would be expected to be. Despite this, a distinct chill courses through Noctis’ body, white hot and leaving his mind numb and his body jolted with freezing anxiety.

There was much to be said of the way his closest friends and advisors interpreted Noctis’ support of Prompto’s story. A risky plunge into uncertainty at best, and a poorly-masked peacocking of Noctis’ appetite for uniquely beautiful Gralean photographers, at worst…

Only five minutes separate Noctis from Gladio’s inciting scorn, the ghosts of Gladio’s words still lick and lash at the fresh emotional scars they left behind. They echo relentlessly in the cavern of his hollow thoughts: booming and jostling in his mind, swirling without beginning or end, a chaotic symphony of reactionary insults.

He shakes his head so quickly, he nearly mistakes the soft whistling of the wind outside for an exaggeration of the ringing in his ears.

Who was Gladio to insinuate that, after fifteen years of Noctis closeting his sexual and romantic desires, that he would so suddenly and uncharacteristically jeopardize the entirety of Lucis in their name? Where Noctis had very rare and fleeting encounters with a couple of men throughout his twenties, he had been quick to remember the nature of his duty and people. Thankfully no rumors ever surfaced; the encounters were so seldom, hidden, and few in number, who would truly believe them? By ultimately practicing celibacy, Noctis only worked to put Lucis first as her King.

And yet Gladio dared to imply that he wishes to skate along the throes of danger, all for the wicked sake of sexual fulfilment. And Ignis – Ignis meant to imply that he is _desperate_ …

“Maybe I am,” Noctis spits under his breath as his hands grip onto the cool golden door handles, as if their sleek, reflective surfaces keep him grounded and upright. He parts the doors to the guest room slowly. The oak creaks as it expands and retracts under the sharp, biting cold that manages to seep its way in along with the shadows of late afternoon.

Prompto sits upon the sill ever still, knees drawn to his chest, head against the cool glass. Libertus rests in a salmon pink armchair, though he stands upright immediately upon Noctis’ arrival. His posture is so rigidly straight, Noctis silently notes, his spine threatens to snap under the tension of his stance. The rounded fat of his fleshy chin aligns perfectly with Noctis’ hairline, and it is not until Noctis waves a silent, dismissive hand that the Glaive slacks with ease.

“Kept a good watch on him, Your Majesty,” he grunts, and Noctis looks over the man’s shoulder to see a formal address of his arrival finally works to capture Prompto’s attention. The blonde turns his head, blinking softly, slowly rising from the sill.

“Thank you for doing so under such short notice,” Noctis nods. Even where his right to command is so entirely inarguable and understood, it is not a right that Noctis indulges in without gratitude.

“Not at all, King Noctis. Beats shovellin’ the courtyard like Captain Amicitia’s been makin’ the rest of us do today,” he mumbles under his breath, and Noctis has to actively cement his muscles into place in order to prevent the corners of his lips from turning up in a sarcastic smirk. Gladio’s knack for discipline and punishment had been lamented many a time to Noctis himself – though never with Gladio himself present, ironically enough…

“Any word on Lady Lunafreya?” Libertus grunts, and Noctis solemnly shakes his head no. Libertus mutters from disappointment. An awkward silence sets in. Prompto watches them both from some feet away, and Noctis can feel the burning heart of Prompto’s curiosity, so much so, that he would dare to guess it could warm up the entire wing of the Citadel they currently occupy.

“I ask that you find Ignis Scientia and assist him in obtaining the new batch of decrees Titus Drautos intends for me to look over this weekend,” Noctis humbly, but firmly commands. The agreement to maintain the status quo in front of Drautos would only buy Noctis so much time to research the credibility of Prompto’s claims, but it is crucial and invaluable time nonetheless.

Likewise, the sending of Ignis allows them to scan him for any erratic or inconsistent changes in mood, behavior, or schedule. The hushed and classified mention of his defection remains between only the four of them, however, thus Libertus merely accepts the assignment before leaving the room none the wiser.

Prompto slowly approaches the visibly burdened man, and it is all Noctis can do but swear that a hint of gentle empathy shines within the brightness of the younger man’s eyes. Noctis exhales, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Once he opens them once more to meet Prompto’s expression head on, the glint’s existence is dubiously untraceable, like a subtle, emotional, visual aftertaste.

It is only twenty or so seconds into their shared silence that Noctis remembers that he had rather aggressively admonished Prompto before leaving to discuss the outcome of his tips, as well as the nature of his sentencing. That he is sheepishly quiet and even the slightest bit nervous comes as no surprise to Noctis. The further one is passed back and forth between King and Glaives with no definitive answer for their crimes would leave anyone a bit _stressed_.

“Is everything okay, Your Majesty?” Prompto finally dares to wonder aloud, and Noctis’ eyes gradually open more. Should it be that the _prisoner_ asks his hypothetical executioner if things fair him well, then perhaps he lets the truth of his feelings shine on a much shallower level of body language than he tries his best to conceal.

“I _mean_ …” Noctis can’t help but roll his eyes and scoff, even if he laments the standoffish, teenage-like air of the gesture.

“Well – _yeah_ …” Prompto nods, scratching behind his neck, his previous question leaving him itchy and fidgety.

“As for the decision I’ve made regarding your testimony and your sentencing, I am ready to share news of both with you,”

The words cause Prompto to tremble slightly, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips as he digs his bare feet in to the rich red of the fur carpet. He nods before looking up, meeting Noctis’ gaze, though his teeth clench down nervously upon his bottom lip. A flush colors his pale, spotted cheeks, and for a handful of pulses, Noctis’ heart skips many a beat.

 _Beautiful_ , Noctis finds, doesn’t even begin to describe the other man. The only other word he could find to accurately describe Prompto is _expressive._ Even then, it fails to encompass the magnitude of his intoxicating emotional range, like a synonym that only _somewhat_ embodies the spirit of its object.

Perhaps it was the curse of royalty, always having to hide the truth of yourself away for the greater good of it all; Ignis, always quiet, rational, reserved. Gladio, stressed and angry and judgmental, quick to assess and demolish pleasantries for necessity’s sake. Thus, lastly leaving Noctis, weary, tired, and worn down, having forever stumbled and failed his way through his lineage since both Ignis and himself were in the single digits.

It is interesting, Noctis realizes: to interact so closely with someone not afraid to display it all, the good and bad, from beginning to end, never once annotating the depth of their own enigmatic nuances.

 No, Noctis further realizes.

Interesting is the way in which no two sleet-having-once-again-turned-snowflakes outside the window are ever the same. Interesting is Lucis Caelum family history, depending on whether or not Ignis, the teacher, was in a good mood or not. Like another insufficient synonym, interesting does not even begin to superficially pin down the man before him, who would dance the lines of moral ambiguity in the most conflicting shades of grey.

“Though it is also my understanding that you arrived at the Citadel twenty four hours ago after an arduous trek across Eos, went through an evening of interrogation, all the way up to this late afternoon, all without a meal,” Noctis nods. Best to not allow himself to get lost in such thoughts, when they are all lost enough as it was.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” Prompto raises an eyebrow from awkward confliction; what precisely, Prompto wonders, was the dining schedule of VIPs within Noctis’ company? Very Important _Prisoners_ , that is.

“I skipped breakfast myself, so I’m gonna make the executive decision that we formally discuss details over dinner between only yourself and I,”

Prompto, for as nervous as the young man deserves to be, visibly eases up in just the slightest way at the implications of food and private correspondence.

“I – I don’t wanna seem desperate, Your Majesty…” Prompto sheepishly begins, missing Noctis’ shudder over the blonde’s choice of the words. “But I’m _really_ hungry…”

* * *

 

The room in which the two men eat alone does not resemble what Prompto envisioned a king’s dining hall would look like in the slightest.

A crystal chandelier hangs overhead, the small, glittering lights of which shine brightly across the slate grey, sanded stone walls. The floors are slightly creaky, an unwaxed wood, the panels of which jut irregularly in uneven protest under what is, Prompto assumes, the constant weight of servants and butlers. The table at which they sit is rectangular, squat, also wooden – albeit waxed. A shelf built into the wall towers to Noctis’ left, adorned with dishware, goblets and pitchers. A large window sits in the wall behind Noctis, and a single door leading to a small kitchen rests twenty feet to the right of them.

The room itself is cramped, as if it had once been a forgotten cupboard converted into a breakfast nook. Prompto sits butterfly style in his chair, daring the lack of formality merely because Noctis had not yet scolded him otherwise.

A single older woman fills their crystal glasses with clear water that instantly leaves their surfaces frosty and cool to the touch. Prompto’s eyes dart between the dishes that pepper the table: roasted Cockatrice, whose uncarved, golden brown skin ruthlessly taunts him.

He nearly pulls a muscle as he turns to gawk at the roasted red potatoes drizzled in olive oil, chives, and parsley. Candied baby carrots rest piping hot in a serving dish, the contents of which Noctis neglects to place on his plate. Already their soups had been cleared – a curried vegetable – and Prompto attempts to wait as couthly as possible for the signal to dig in.

“Thank you very much for your services this evening. I ask that you leave me and my guest in peace until I signal for your return. I shall take any concerns over for now,” Noctis formally nods to a maid who bows low in response.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she hardly whispers, and Prompto turns around in his chair to watch her leave with a close of the door.

“…Sure is strange, how little people around here seem to recognize me…” Prompto starts, speaking for the first time since they had left the guest bedroom. Noctis exhales slightly, cutting into the leg of the Cockatrice before using the carving tools to set it upon his plate.

“Let’s just say there are some royal conflicts that make the papers, and some that don’t even leave the meetings of my inner circle,” Noctis curtly, though not unkindly, explains, Prompto raising his eyebrows and carving his own helping of the poultry – the wing and a leg – for himself. It only makes sense, Prompto realizes now that he asks, that the King of Lucis himself would have many confidential concerns and correspondences that even those within his own residence were not always privy to.

“You should be glad, considering the trouble you claim to’ve gone through already because of your wanted status,” Noctis rather haughtily adds, to which Prompto furrows his brow, stabbing a red potato with a little more force than he intended.

“I’m glad you think it’s _funny,_ Your Majesty…” Prompto mutters, and Noctis looks up from his plate to silently observe the blonde for a few seconds.

“I never said it was,” Noctis snaps back, and the two absentmindedly dance with their forks around the vegetables on their plate, the silence between them growing more and more oppressively awkward the longer it goes.

“May I ask you something about your past, Prompto?” Noctis finally caves in, his voice light and careful, almost as if he asks Prompto permission to continue, much to the blonde’s surprise.

“I – I mean I’m kinda expected to answer whatever it is you wish to know about me, Your Highness,” Prompto underhandedly confirms Noctis’ request, the other man bringing a napkin to lips before he presses forward.

“Please, Prompto – call – call me Noctis,”

Prompto places his fork on the table, his head shooting up as he quietly observes Noctis in surprise. Maybe he would call him nothing at all; the thick, heavy silence from before returns.

“If you _want_ ,” Noctis attempts to salvage the conversation. Prompto scrapes his incisors along his chapped bottom lip. Small cracks caused by his week long trek through winter wilderness flow to the edge of it like thin, white rivers.

“I mean – Gladio the Glaive probably won’t like it much…” Prompto mumbles. His face is back to his food. The carrot once skewered on his fork has been compulsively ground into a nauseatingly mushy mess upon his plate due to his subconscious, nervous hand motions.

No, Noctis silently agrees. Gladio probably would not approve.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disapproved of me in the last twenty-five years we’ve known one another, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. Now, I was looking through your file earlier this afternoon…” he starts, and Prompto looks up, an unreadable anxiety on his face, as if the blonde waits for the man to continue before he displays either a negative or positive reaction. “If Ignis, my Glaive, remembers correctly, you informed him and Gladio yesterday that you do not remember the birth-given names of either yourself or your Mom and Dad,”

Prompto wordlessly shakes his head no, allowing himself the chance to swallow a mouthful of carrots he only marginally has the appetite to chew before he elaborates.

“Look, when we moved here, Mom and Dad did everything they could to make sure I was raised as Lucian as possible,” Prompto explains, the scathing edge of defense highlighting the tone of his voice. Noctis listens patiently. “My parents never spoke Gralean at home, I mean – my parents don’t even have accents anymore when they speak Lucian, and I was never allowed to see my birth certificate, because they didn’t want me knowing anything about Gralea or Niflheim,”

“I see…” Noctis nods, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. Perhaps he would forgo telling him the names he’d read earlier.

“Apparently what happened to me was – was so bad that, when I was about seven, and I asked my mom about it, she just explained that he, as in, whatever my _Gralean_ name was, was dead, and Prompto Argentum is here, alive and well and _Lucian_ ,”

Noctis lets out a soft, “mmm,” of understanding, slowly stroking his beard in thought. Prompto sarcastically smirks.

“So much for _that_ , though, right?” he cannot help but leave the scathing irony in his voice, but when Noctis goes to respond, Prompto simply holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Look – I – I get it. Luna explained a lot of it to me. I know that you’re kinda stuck in a hard place, and that maybe things are a little more complicated than they seem –“

“Pff – you think?!” Noctis can’t help but roll his eyes, though thankfully Prompto reads the self-depreciating tone in his voice, and the blonde smiles sadly himself.

“She – she didn’t explain _everything_ , but – but – enough to get a good picture of it all, I guess…”

Noctis nods, looking out the window onto the courtyard below. Gladio stands with a good half of his unit, the men shoveling relentlessly whilst he forces another half through a set of rigorous exercises in the blistering cold of the snowy ghost town below. Either they’d earned the admonishment they receive by performing such menial tasks already covered by groundskeepers, Noctis muses. Either that, or he was merely taking out his frustration with Noctis on _them_ , he sorely adds.

“Your parents must have worked really hard, then,” Noctis compliments as he rises from his chair, and Prompto turns around at the sound of a soft knock on the door behind him catches his attention.

“Please forgive me, Your Majesty – I know you asked for privacy, but the kitchens insist that I bring up some warm cider,”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Noctis gestures toward the table, the woman slowly setting an intricate samovar of brass and copper upon the table, her hands protected by damask oven mitts.

“Do you get along well with your parents?” Noctis asks, preoccupied with the samovar as he pours a generous amount of the steaming cider into two porcelain teacups.

And right away Noctis can see it – the skepticism. Having seen enough of it the last two days from Ignis and Gladio, the man is no stranger to the emotion, the figurative pot stirrer. He knows it well, that questioning look, skepticism; he sees it in the slight part of Prompto’s lips, the light arch of his cocked eyebrow. Even where he does not voice his questions aloud, his body language fills in the gaps:

 _“Are you trying to catch me in a web of lies? Are you vetting me or something?”_ the soft and deliberate way his hand reaches for the tea cup Noctis hands him wonders.

 _“Is this part of the background check?”_ the way his tense shoulders interrogate.

 _“Or are you just asking because you’re curious?”_ the way his soft, unblinking blue eyes stay fixed on Noctis’ own grey ones.

“Well, uh…” Prompto chokes, his hands curled around the width of the teacup. The cup itself is petal shaped, the rim outlined in a thin strip of gold, the difference in material causing an odd sensation when he brings it to his mouth.

The cider is heavily spiced, so much so that Prompto can see the silt of cloves and cinnamon and cardamom as it collects in the rim of the bottom. Perhaps the teacups are black in order to better insulate the heat of the drink. He inhales, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, I really do like my parents. I love them a lot. They were hard on me growing up, but I’ve always been a good kid, I guess,” Prompto looks up from his cup and nearly gasps. The woman had apparently returned at some point to place a small bowl of freshly whipped cream in the center, as well as a saucer of molten caramel, and a small, silver shaker of cinnamon.

“I’ve liked it this way since I was a child…” Noctis explains, taking a massive heap of whipped cream and thwacking it into his cup. Even where it overflows and bubbles into the drink, Prompto does not judge.

“I got a digital camera for my tenth birthday, and I think they kinda regret it – photography isn’t a cheap hobby,” Promto guilty grins.

“Well it was well worth the investment – you really do have a talent,” Noctis nods, and Prompto, although it is not the first time he has received the compliment from the King, cannot help but smile all the same. “We’ll have to talk about it in depth one of these days. I’ve always liked art, just was never good at it…”

“Thanks, Your Majesty – _Noctis_ …” the name is awkward and unfamiliar, and Prompto drops his gaze from embarrassment. “What – what about you?”

Noctis furrows his brow, setting his cup gently upon the table. He had not expected Prompto to reverse the question in turn. Prompto’s eyes glitter with laughter, and he pinches his lips between his teeth to keep his smile from showing. Noctis jumps as he realizes a thick ring of whipped cream catches in his beard – perhaps he would shave it as per Ignis’ suggestion in the morning.

“My mother died when I was young…” Noctis begins, dabbing the edge of his mouth with his napkin. “And – and my dad…” he clears his throat into his fist, losing himself to his thoughts. Prompto loses himself in his own. While his relationship with Noctis could only be described as _strange_ in every sense of the word, it did not lessen the impact of the peculiarity that was being able to sit across from the King of Lucis, referring to the most beloved monarchs of Lucian history with the humbling title of _dad._

“He was my best friend, my hero. It’s hard, though. I’ve been trying so hard to measure up to him, ever since I could walk, and I – I feel like – well…” Noctis stops himself. Perhaps it would be best not to air out his greatest insecurities in front of a man that, for all intents and purposes, he should not be as relaxed around as he is.

“…It’s been a tall order,”

Prompto smirks, leaning against the back of the chair. At what point, Prompto wonders, stirring his teaspoon languidly in his cup, Noctis blinking slowly at him, did the conversation transform from one between King and prisoner, to a _first date_?

“Life is strange, man…” he sighs out loud, and suddenly the caramel on his spoon is entirely too sweet.

“But it’s whatever,” Prompto sighs, instantly recapturing Noctis’ attention. “I mean, what’s done is done, and if all of that crazy stuff hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have been where I was to know what I know, and I wouldn’t be here to tell you about it,” he rationalizes, and Noctis can’t help but nod thoughtfully in agreement; he hadn’t considered the way it all, glaring mistakes from both sides included, came to a stunningly perfect circle.

“I – just – _please_ don’t destroy my camera,” Prompto shakingly sighs as he utters the words, Noctis leaning forward, his features narrowed in confusion. The statement had come from seemingly nowhere, entirely unprovoked.

“I don’t follow…”

“When you behead me, or lock me up, or feed me to the dogs, whatever – just – please don’t destroy my camera…” Prompto pleads again, Noctis finishing the remainder of the cider in his cup before he shakes his head. The words are a reminder to him as well, what the conversation over dinner was supposed to entail. “It’s all I’ve _got_ – and kinda all I’ve ever _had_ …”

“Yes, about that matter…” Noctis clears his throat, darting his gaze to the floor, and Prompto sits up in his chair. His hand, Noctis secretly notices, shakes just so slightly as it grips his knife, the other his fork.

“It was not an easy decision to come to for either myself or my Glaives, but I have decided to test the validity of your testimony myself by going to the Disc of Cauthess in an attempt to locate Luna’s Trident,” Noctis explains, Prompto nodding emphatically.

“Yeah, uh – apparently – apparently there was something with – with the Archean, I – I dunno, I could barely hear it, but I dunno, Your Majesty – _Astrals_ , that – those are all just rumors, _legends_ –“

“Specific details such as those will be covered tomorrow, which brings me to my next point, regarding your sentencing,” Noctis nods, and Prompto blanches.

“I am ordering you to stay here at the Citadel, under the watch and guard of my Glaives, while I search the Disc. While you will not be imprisoned, you will not be a guest of mine, either. That is until you have proven yourself as honest and working in Luna’s favor, in which case I will still request that you remain at the Citadel so that I may continue to consult your counsel until Luna and Nyx are found safe and sound. At this point, I will formally pardon you of all previous crimes, under the circumstances that you do not return to Lucis,”

“Wait, say what?” Prompto gawks at the man, pushing his plate away from him.

“Yes?” Noctis narrows his eyes, but Prompto leans forward, his chest resting against the table.

“You’re saying that you want me here, while _you_ go and look for Luna, and you’ll pardon me as long as I leave Lucis?”

“Yes,”

“And _never return_?” Prompto repeats, and the pitch of his voice is nearly as skewed as his eyebrow, angled in a slope perfected only by the physical traits of disbelief.

“That is correct,” Noctis nods. If he notices Prompto’s sudden change in demeanor, he does not address it.

“I…” Prompto starts, and he cuts himself off before Noctis can, clenching his teeth and fists, his balled hands firm upon the table. The blonde stares down at his own lap, the lap covered primarily in a pair of trousers lent to him from the King’s own closet, the satin white of a dinner cloth resting genteel and highly refined in the gap of his thighs.

He clenches his eyes shut. His breath rattles as he attempts to force the words up his throat in an attempt to finish his thoughts, though his body insists on funneling up the subtlest of sobs instead.

“I thought you _believed_ me?!”

Noctis places the tea cup he holds in his hands upon the small saucer before him. The man across from him stumbles in his body language. A wideness in Noctis’ eyes only demonstrate to Prompto that the man had not been prepared for such a comment in return.

“I – I _do_ …” Noctis curtly nods, his eyes suddenly scanning his own lap in disbelief, as if the admission spoken aloud had been foreign, involuntary in both thought and action.

“And that’s your idea of showing it? _Banishing_ me?!” Prompto quietly accuses, and Noctis’s own defenses flare at the nerve of the blonde before him.

“What the hell do you want, a key to the _city_?! Did you expect the entirety of Lucis to grovel at your feet?! To – to celebrate you as a _hero_ – ?!”

“I just want to be treated like a damn _human_ again…” Prompto slouches in his chair, darting his eyes away from Noctis’ before closing them in an attempt to mask the tears that well within them. “Your father spent my whole entire _life_ giving me and my family the chance to start over –“

“Don’t you bring my _father_ into this, Prompto!” Noctis growls, and there, in the king’s anger, in all of its self-protective, righteous theatrics, is the kernel of his insecurity; a shallowly and hastily buried seed that threatens to wax and flourish the longer he fertilizes it with his resentment.

“You’re calling me a _liar_ , Noctis!” Prompto accuses, the other man blinking disbelievingly at the sound of his own name slipping through Prompto’s lips without the blanketed envelopment of nervousness preceding it.

“Why else would you _shun_ me like this?! The only reason I did what I did was to beg you to please not ruin the life your father risked war with Niflheim to give me –”

“Don’t you think I’ve heard enough about how much of a _failure_ I am compared to him – ?!” Noctis slams his fist against the wood table, grappling with his heavy, punctuated breaths before continuing. Prompto, still and surging with emotion and adrenaline, watches the man through narrowed eyes and an almost desperate frown.

“From the press, from my _people_ , Parliament, my own _Glaives_ , from _you_ – !” he continues, and even though he maintains steady control over the volume of his voice, the power of it keeps Prompto silent in his seat. “My own _men_ see me as foolish and incompetent to trust and believe you –!”

“So then is throwing me over your wall your way of saving _face_ , Your Majesty?!” Prompto whispers, and the two men study one another with intensive glares, relentless and unwavering in their scouting of the other.

“I’m _pardoning_ you, for Ramuh’s sake –!”

“You may not be throwing me in a cell, but you’re kicking me out of my _home_ ,” Prompto slowly blinks, and Noctis shakes his head; perhaps the claims of madness all around him had clung on to some morsel of truth – who was he to entertain the rebuttals of the accused, at his own private _dinner table_ , no less?!

“You’re just expanding the walls of my prison to the rest of _Eos_.”

“I don’t have time to argue with prisoners about their sentences,” Noctis spits and rises from the table, though he is surprised to notice Prompto rises with him.

“So now I’m a _prisoner_ again?! Then let’s talk about the other part, too – you just want me to _stay here_ , while _you_ go out and look for her –?!” Prompto’s question is soft, quiet, threatening to snap under the strain of disbelief he still maintains underneath arguments. “You’re just gonna _leave me_ here, stuck in the Citadel, in the home of a King who doesn’t even _want_ me in his kingdom, leaving me with two people who _punch_ me when I try to tell them anything, and think I’m _lying_ , while you go out and look for my friends?!”

Prompto purses his lips thinly, blue eyes bright with the awaited expectancy of Noctis’ counter argument.

“If I don’t intend to take my own Glaives with me, what makes me think I would bring _you_?”

Prompto visibly recoils at the edge in disdain packed so venomously into the final syllable of Noctis’ statement. Noctis instantly regrets the statement, not having meant it in such a derogatory way.

“Look – I – sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound so –“ Noctis stumbles, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth.

“Look, Daemons – _Daemons_ are getting stronger and stronger, and Niflheim, they’re –they’re mobilizing or _something_ out there, beyond the wall –“ Prompto chokes, clearly trying to brush over the bruise to his self-esteem by Noctis’ comment.

“As if I don’t know this!” Noctis sneers.

“What if you lose cell phone reception out there?! How are you supposed to get in touch with me, or anyone here?! Why do you think we hunt Daemons in groups?!”

“I’m not hunting Daemons, I’m looking for Luna and Nyx –“

“You can’t just go out there alone, Noctis! You – you can’t just _leave_ me here!”

“I can, as it’s my final ruling and verdict,” Noctis calmly explains, his voice so soft and determined that it leaves Prompto unnerved. “You’re to stay here at the Citadel and assist Gladio and Ignis while I go to the Disc and retrieve Luna’s Trident –“

“But they don’t even _trust_ me like you do! I’m _useless_ stuck here, and you know it –!”

“I’m not debating this anymore with you, Prompto.”

The knock on the other side of the door that breaks their thirty second long silence causes both men to jump. Prompto’s eyes follow Noctis as he sighs, rubbing his forehead before wearily instructing the individual on the other side to enter.

“Noct?” the smooth, accented voice of the sandy-haired Glaive calls from the door frame, and Prompto sharply inhales a shuddering breath before he furrows his brow, striding past the man without another word.

“…Dare I ask?” Ignis flatly questions, a single eyebrow raised as he observes the table set for two, the whipped cream now deflated and yellowing, the caramel nearly cooled to a solid mass. The samovar hisses, a small puff of steam its final, dying breath. He smacks his lips as he parts them and inhales, looking over his shoulder at Prompto as he continues to walk without looking back.

“No, but uh…it’d probably be a good thing if you’d follow,” Noctis leans against the table, gaze cast out the window where, even where the snow has stopped, the infinite sheet of winter grey still threatens to swallow the entire Crown City whole. “Make sure he goes to his room, alright?”

“Noct, I have to say this is getting out of hand, I cannot keep chasing after your nonsensical back and forth with this man – “

“Don’t argue with me, Iggy,” Noctis snaps, the tone instantly triggering Ignis’ unamused sigh, though unwavering loyalty. “Give him his camera, and tell him to be ready to join you both at the Lucian border tomorrow so he can show you and Gladio just how he keeps managing to hop it so easily,”

“ _Yes, Your Majesty_ ,” Ignis nods, saving the solemn shake of his head for when the soft click of the door in its frame sufficiently hides his own frame from the king he serves.

* * *

 

Prompto knows better than to protest the violent knocks upon the door any further than he already has. The bedroom is dimly lit with the natural light of a budding morning, dousing the entire room in lavender and smokey grey. He sits up, stretching. Only The Six know what time it is.

He does not respond when Gladio gruffly barks at him to meet him in the foyer in ten minutes time, not even making eye contact with the man before doing all he can not to slam the door behind him. Of all the things Prompto, a bright young man, knows, it’s better than to inquire about breakfast.

 Noctis, true to his word, had left for the Disc of Cauthess, alone in the middle of the night. Gladio and Ignis attempt to keep the conversation regarding Noctis’s departure as hushed as possible in the front seats of the Regalia that they drive. Prompto finds it all too easy to hone in on their hushed words via the guise of catching an extra twenty minutes of sleep.

The road is bumpy, and the coat of the Crownsguard begrudgingly lent to him by Gladio proves to be a very convincing pillow; Prompto, ironically enough, comes to find that the conversation comes to him in snippets, as waves of extra sleep do catch up to him in the end.

_“ – Carry on as usual, best that we don’t arouse suspicion from Drautos –“_

_“—Can’t believe we’re actually listenin’ to his punk ass –“_

_“—At this rate, all we can do is obey Noctis’ orders as King—“_

_“—He say what’s in store for the piece of shit?! –“_

_“—Said he’d clarify it once he got back –“_

_“—Went alone to make his actions as inconspicuous as possible, he’s even going by foot, so no one recognizes him in a royal convoy—“_

_“—Bet he’ll be happy to see us after a week of campin’ –“_

_“—Remember to lock up Prompto’s guns?—“_

_“—If he tries anything funny out here, we’ll gut him and leave him for dead –“_

_“—Please don’t forget what Noctis said, he is a bit of a neutral ally for now—“_

Noctis is two hours out of The Three Valleys before Ignis and Gladio finally swallow their pride enough to actually utilize their voices, as their phone call to the man necessitates. Darkness had long swept the world in its nightly blanket, and Noctis can see the swirl of a Haven as its ancient smoke dissipates into the sky. It’s all he can do, as he catches his breath after (successfully) fighting twenty Goblins at once, to keep his voice down as he frantically shouts down the receiver, checking his shoulder for Daemon’s his conversation may further attract.

Prompto, according to Ignis, had shown the two of them the passageways along the border he’d used to sneak in and out of Lucis. Dank, forgotten sewers, dangerous, steep cliffs with jagged, unforgiving edges – perilous, but useful to one with the fortitude to utilize them.

_“He claimed he had a photograph to show us in the camera he’d left behind in the Regalia –“_

_“ – I KNEW WE COULDN’T TRUST HIS ASS – “_ Gladio’s voice in the background shrills so loudly, Noctis grimaces and holds the phone away from his ears.

_“Gladio, please – he didn’t give any indication of where he was going or why – Noct?!”_

But the phone had long since been abandoned in the grass, its owner long since unconscious. Noctis, sprawled out on the ground, his body succumbing to shockwaves of pain, can only spare two sluggish blinks before darkness consumes him entirely. The Ronin that approaches him grips a blade slicked a dark red with the very same blood that seeps into the Raiment Noctis wears.

* * *

 

Noctis does not know how much time has passed since his falling and awakening: merely that he is grateful he regains enough consciousness to ponder the question. Attempting to sit up, the action causes Noctis to groan from an immediate, excruciating pain.

His entire abdomen threatens to tear in half under the agony, and Noctis immediately falls back into the bed in which he lies, eyes closed, his lids moist with tears. He can tell by the creaking of the frame the bed is metal, a thin, full-sized mattress separating him from the uncomfortable metal rods below. He’s tangled under multiple layers of thick white sheets, stuck to his swampy, sweaty skin.

His eyes sting from the salt in his lashes, and his body tenses as waves of pain course through his torso, down to his toes. Would that he could, he would shoot his hands across his body to wrap around them, but even the motion of lifting them proves to be both exhausting and equally torturous.

“Hey, you need to stop that, Noctis, or else you’re just gonna make it worse.”

The man slows his breathing, willing himself to do so by exhaling shallowly through his open mouth, careful not to place too much pressure on his stomach. His eyes slowly part, blurred into dozens directions, and the light that shoots straight to his sensitive pupil causes him to recoil.

He can tell by the reaction of his body alone that he had been unconscious for days.

In a slow reattempt to recalibrate his vision, Noctis only half opens his eyes. The entire room is filled with white, winter sunshine, trailing in through the uncovered window directly to Noctis’ left. Not a single surface of the shack he comes to register is a color other than a bleached, woody brown. An open door in another room slams against the wall every time the wind outside picks up, and it is only when Noctis notices the room is not as frigid as the air outside implies, that he registers the soft whirr of a space heater running in the corner.

“Dave? _Dave_ – he’s – he’s _awake_ –“

Soft hands pull back a handful of bunched sheets, revealing Noctis’ naked upper body to the room. Noctis blinks again, his eyes taking pity on him and thus granting him with a greater ability to see with each passing second. Hair gets brushed out of his eyes, past his sweaty forehead. He blinks again, his vision unifying into a single, crisp image, though one Noctis’ sluggish mind struggles to keep up with.

“…Prompto?” Noctis grunts, careful not to disturb his injuries, and his chest buzzes from the bass of his own voice, from the shock and adrenaline as he comes to.

The blonde-haired man nods once, hand resting upon the frame of a door in which he stands, clearly interrupted mid stride into another room. His skin is bright and pale, marred by muddy streaks of black and brown. His sweater is thick and grey – utilitarian, though highly unfashionable. Black skinny jeans cling to his ankles, the soles and ankles of his black boots garnished with half melted snow and ice.

He shivers, even as he stands still, and his ears and nose are a bright red, alive and screaming its rejuvenation as the blood returns to them.

“What – what – wait – what –“ Noctis stutters, stopping himself from making the mistake of attempting to sit up once more.

“Hunter’s Outpost, just outside of Hammerhead,” Prompto predictively answers, both him and Noctis looking through the door as a gruff voice calls the blonde’s name as well. “It’s not all that long a story, but you’ve definitely got the time to listen to it either way,” Prompto nods.

“What’re you – you – you’re supposed to be with Gladio and Ignis – !”

“Well, technically I _am_ , I guess, they’re here too, just – look, you took some real nasty cuts while you were out there, and Dave said this antibiotic needs to be given every three hours on the nose, so uh, I’ll be right back, okay?! I’ll explain, just hold on a minute!” Prompto holds up a hand and nods emphatically as he rushes through the door way, calling after the one called Dave. The steps of his heavy boots are unmuffled against the dusty hardwood floor, and Noctis groans as another wave of pain emanates from his stomach.

If there was one thing about Prompto Noctis had come to accept, he realizes, the blonde reappearing with a bald headed man at his side, clothed in a vest and khakis despite the grueling weather, it was that he was full of harrowing tales and interesting stories, and Noctis had no choice but remain an avid listener.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Prompto explains to Noctis what the hell happened between his departure toward the disc, him and Gladnis' journey to the Lucian border, and him being gravely injured and lying in the bed of an outpost. Gladnis see proof with their own eyes that Prompto is telling the truth, and Noctis is left with no choice but to allow the three of them to accompany him on his journey to find Luna.


	9. All But My Life

The pressure of the hands that steady Noctis at his bare, clammy shoulders dissolve the final blots of blurry vision from his eyes. They are rough, large, completely unknown – marred by scars, layers of dirt highlighting every dip and print in their palms. The attempt at protesting either physically or vocally causes Noctis to recoil from sharp, debilitating pains emanating from his torso. The hands that continue to grip him, however, do not ease their hold, as if prepared for Noctis’ resistance.

“Knew he’d be a squirmer – _get that damn medicine ready_ , Prompto!” Dave snaps over his shoulder, Prompto’s nervous hands pouring a generous amount of clear liquid onto a pristine cloth.

“ _Un – unhand me_!” Noctis gutturally commands, urging what little strength his body musters into the gruffness of his voice.

“Sorry to say I can’t, Your Highness, you’re not gonna be very fond of the stingin’ this stuff’ll cause to your scars,” Dave grunts. Prompto hisses and closes his eyes, turning away sharply as the pungent antiseptic barrages his nostrils.

“ _I won’t – not without – Glaives_!” Noctis stubbornly stutters, though Dave hardly seems up for negotiation.

“I get your reasonin’, Your Grace, but this medicine’s got a schedule, Glaives or not,” Dave retorts, Prompto shaking his head and shuddering from the bitter cold.

“Look, Your Majesty – _N-Noctis_ …!” Prompto pleads from Dave’s left, squeezing the rag so tightly, droplets of the medicine trail slowly down the forearms left exposed by his rolled up sweater sleeves. “This is _Starscourge_ we’re talking about, and we’re not Oracles, if you don’t let us clean you up every three hours you, you –!”

Prompto ceases the explanation of his dire warning; he and Dave glance over their shoulders as three figures clad entirely in black stride in through the door, the winter wind tagging along unwelcome. One of the figures wastes no time; sensing Noctis’ distress, Gladio abruptly pushes Prompto slightly backward with his forearm, albeit with slightly less aggression than Noctis would have expected from his friend.

Ignis places a hand on Prompto’s shoulder to root him in place, and Dave rises from his crouching position to acknowledge the third figure in full attention.

“I’ll be damned if it ain’t Cor goddamn _Leonis_...” Dave nods, Cor silently matching the motion with a stoic one of his own. “We’ve been trying to reach you for _days_ , Monica’s around here somewhere –“

“Greetings and explanations are going to have to wait until the King’s wounds are properly tended to,” Cor’s deep voice instantly silences even Noctis, and what little understanding the black haired man thought he reigned over the last ten minutes instantly slips from his grip.

Prompto shakily nods from behind Gladio’s guarded frame, stepping slightly forward to approach Noctis’ bed –

“Doses will be administered by His Majesty’s _Glaives_ from now on, Dave,” Cor warns, joining Ignis and Gladio as their gazes converge on a silent Prompto, bottle and cloth in hand.

“You heard ‘em, Prompto – go ahead, before the dosage window closes on us…” Dave concedes. Prompto swallows, handing the supplies to Ignis, who approaches Noctis’ bedside.

“You’ll wanna hold him down, just so you know…” Dave nods to Gladio, who spares a brief glance at Prompto before nodding and stepping forward himself.

Noctis is merely grateful that Cor had the presence of mind to command that which he is physically unable.

“I assure you we were only away from your side a three days’ journey, Highness –“

“The rest of this can wait until he gets his damn _dosage_ , alright?! Unless it’s a Daemon King you guys want!” Dave aggravatedly snaps, Ignis’ jaw tensing as he cuts himself short. Gladio and Cor share a less than amicable glare at Dave, though understand it to be best to momentarily save their protests.

“What – what is this stuff –“ Noctis grunts, eyes closing as Gladio places strong hands on his shoulders, pinning him backward against his pillow.

“Luna can’t hunt with us all the time, so it’s a basic anti-septic potion diluted with water from lakes located near Havens, prayed over with her blessing,” Prompto, much to everyone’s surprise, explains as he continues to stand next to the window, going red under their continued attention. “Nyx left us with a supply of it ages ago, to fight wounds left by Daemons. I – I think he said it’s called a _Hi Potion_ …” Prompto swallows, nodding. Dave grunts in agreement. “It’s pretty strong stuff, and in the wrong hands, it can hasten the effects of the Scourge, if mishandled. It’s kinda why Luna was the only one with it, and why she left a handful of it with us. Lucky we had some…”

“And _how_ does it work, exactly?” Cor firmly questions, skeptical, though intrigued.

“Same way regular old alcohol works. Just put it on a cloth and press it against the problem area. Thing is, since you’re drainin’ Starscourge out the bloodstream, you wanna make sure you’re applying this stuff every three hours on the hour, ‘til he’s back up on his feet. Just drop a dollop’s worth of liquid on the rag, and hold it tight against his injury ‘til the sizzlin’ stops,”

“Do you consent to this, Highness?” Ignis sternly brings the conversation back to the bedridden man, and Noctis rubs cold sweat from his forehead before shutting his eyes.

“ _Not much choice_ …” he sneers, Gladio exhaling slowly through his nose, shoulders heaving in tune.

“It’s what we’ve been using since Prompto first brought him here four days ago, and considerin’ you should be dead, Your Majesty, you’re making an _excellent_ recovery,” Dave nods, folding his arms. Cor nicks curtly at Ignis, who clenches his bottom lip tightly with his teeth.

“Please forgive my lack of modesty, Noct,” Ignis clears his throat, lifting the waffle knit undershirt by its hem, exposing Noctis’ chest and torso to the room. All but Noctis instantly recoil at the sight of the grizzly laceration that strokes up his sternum.

“Lookin’ at it sure don’t get easier…” Dave gags.

The deep wound refuses to relinquish its black and purple bruising, despite the obvious signs of healing surrounding the rest of the skin.

The sight of trauma is enough to render them silent; not that any snippet of conversation would have been audible over the agonizing scream the medicine elicits from Noctis the instant Ignis contacts his skin.

“ _PIN HIM DOWN, I SAID_!” Dave roars.

Noctis thrashes involuntarily, and instantly Gladio strains his arms to hold the young king in place against the mattress. The tendons in Noctis’ neck nearly pierce through his skin, he clenches his jaw so tightly. The sizzling sound of the potion purifying the slash is nauseating. Prompto holds his breath in horror; even Cor opts for darting his gaze to the floor at the gruesome sight.

Not a single man dares a sound, save for Noctis’ shouts that slowly ease into dull groans. Ignis’ brow furrows, the bespectacled man concentrating heavily upon the sizzling sound, which slowly fizzles into a shallow bubbling until finally, no other noise can be heard.

It is only then that Gladio eases his grip, standing up and wiping his forehead. Ignis places the rag and potion bottle on a table by Noctis’ bedside, chest heaving with nervous, slow breaths. Dave’s knuckles are white, subconsciously clutching the metal bed frame for support. Cor, cross armed, lifts his gaze from the floor, frowning silently at Noctis, lost in thought. Forgotten Prompto brings his hands from his mouth, as pale as his Hunter comrade’s hands.

“…Sorry, Your Majesty. You’ve been asleep for your other helpings,” Dave nods, though Noctis, still incapacitated from residual waves of pain, responds with slow, even breaths of his own. His closed eyelids cease their rapid fluttering as he regains his senses. “There’s sadly no point in bothering with wrappings, since it’s a three hour deal…”

“And how much longer is he going to have to take the three hour doses?” Cor’s regal voice critically interrogates, and Dave frowns before offering his answer.

“…Dunno. Probably another day. Usually we can get Hunters knocked unconscious by Daemon injuries back on their feet within a day of comin’ to again under the medicine’s influence,”

“…Great…” Noctis croaks, causing them all to jump, whilst simultaneously thanking The Six the room is big enough to accommodate them all.

“Please do not push yourself, Highness –“ Ignis warns, for Noctis uses his palms to slowly elevate his upper body to better survey everyone in the room.

“It’s – its okay. Whatever the hell it is Luna gave you guys is a damn miracle drug if I’ve ever seen one…” Noctis scoffs. Still clammy and hardly optimal, the man clearly has little energy yet to spend.

“Get a fire goin’, would you Prompto? Don’t gotta tell you where the kindle is,” Dave grunts, and Prompto nods before wasting no further time. He barrels past Cor and Gladio, who stand closest to the front door, the wooden partition banging against the frame in his wake.

“So Prompto really is his _real_ name, huh?!” Gladio spits, glancing over his shoulder before crossing his arms indignantly. “He’s a hunter, then? He never gave you any fake _names_ or stories?”

“He ain’t never had a reason to lie to me thus far…” Dave shrugs, sauntering over to a wood burning stove in the corner and removing old ash and soot from its barrel. “Why’s it you ask?!”

“Let’s just say the nature of our relationship with Mr. Argentum is hardly the most amicable of connections the Crown has managed to establish,” Ignis closes his eyes and shakes his head, Noctis taking the time to zone out their chatter and steady his breathing once more.

“…Well, I can’t say Prompto made any mention of any issues he may’ve had with the Lucian Crown a few months ago when he first started takin’ on hunts with my men,” Dave strokes the sandy stubble on his chin, his hands finally regaining the color they’d lost earlier. “But I guess trouble with the Crown ain’t exactly somethin’ you’d bring up at a job interview. And before you try to accuse me of some sort of obstruction of royal justice, it ain’t somethin’ we ask about, either,” Dave raises an eyebrow, and Gladio meets his expression with a distasteful one of his own.

“You’d think past criminal history and treason would be _deal breakers_ for potentials interested in joining a bunch of weapon-wielding warriors,” Cor snaps, and Dave shakes his head and holds up a hand.

“Come on, Leonis, you deaf?! I just said we don’t ask, and you sure as hell don’t tell. Kid just popped up outta nowhere, dirty and distressed, askin’ if we had any jobs needed done, said the old girl at Hammerhead station down the way didn’t need his help anymore. Huntin’ ain’t an easy job, and it sure doesn’t have the highest life expectancy; we need Daemon slayers, and kid needed the cash. Turns out he had a knack and a passion for it,”

“You dare take that tone with the Marshall –?!” Gladio starts, but Cor holds a silent hand up to his comrade.

“Now look, all of you; I get this is his Kingdom and I get you boys have a job to do, bein’ at the seats of it,” Dave throws a thumb over his shoulder to point at the resting Noctis behind him. “But with all due respect, sirs, you guys have hardly given a _damn_ about what’s happened beyond the Wall in the past, and we don’t take much that goes on in Insomnia into account, either. The rest of Lucis ain’t got _nearly_ the money or resources the Crown City does, and we got hordes upon hordes of Daemons that need our immediate attention. Any good man or woman willing to put their lives on the line on a nightly basis to help my boys with that is gonna get a plus in my books. Problem is, our definitions of what it means to be _good_ seem to be pretty different,”

Ignis blinks slowly, expression neutrally unreadable as he mulls over the Hunter’s words. Gladio and Cor share whispered comments with one another, Gladio concluding their hushed secret with a sneer in the man’s direction.

“And _Cor_. For as long as you and I’ve been friends, you’d think you’d have a little more respect for me than that,” Dave snaps, Cor sighing and resting his hands on his hips. “I can’t tell you anything about what the kid may’ve done on your record, but I do know that he’s damn good with a gun and a great friend of Lady Lunafreya’s – we _all_ are,”

“And how long ago was this, that he was _a gunslingin’ Oracle friend_?”  Gladio sarcastically wonders aloud.

“Dunno. Last time I saw Prompto was probably a good couple months ago. I know he moved on to Altissa. Haven’t seen him since he randomly decided to show up at my outpost blue from frostbite carryin’ the near dead King of Lucis on his back three days ago,”

The four men turn around to observe Prompto’s frame as it approaches the shack, a bundle of tinder in his arms.

“Anything before that point though, is just as much a mystery to me as it is to you,” Dave shrugs, who rises from his crouch to meet Prompto with a book of matches.

“This enough?” Prompto windedly asks, instantly taking the match book and setting toward the stove when Dave nods in response.

“…Regardless of the nature of it all, I appreciate you reaching out to me, Dave,” Cor admits. “I’ve been so caught up in my missions in Niflheim – I technically have not been in Lucis since his coronation,” Cor nicks his head toward the snoozing Noctis. Prompto turns to glance quickly at the conversing men behind him, though resists the urge to invite himself into the conversation.

“I haven’t quite been involved in this Prompto business as a result,”

“That makes two of us, Marshall,” Dave chuckles, and the still listening Prompto chooses the very moment to turn away from the fire. Rising to full height, he faces them all, cheeks burning bright from wind chill.

“My name is Prompto Argentum. Born in Gralea, but I was brought to Insomnia with my family when I was four, under King Regis’ reign. Twenty,” Prompto bows first to Cor, though he turns to Dave quickly after. “I guess I never really introduced myself to you…” he sheepishly adds, scratching behind his neck.

“No you didn’t, since it seems like you got some royal trouble up your ass, if I’m getting’ the gist of what your buddies here’re sayin’…”

“Heh…” Prompto nervously laughs, brushing his front of half melted snow crystals.

“He is wanted by the Crown for crimes against His Majesty’s safety, for fraudulent, anti-government activities, and for evading arrest for nearly half a year,” Gladio snidely adds, Cor and Ignis ever silent.

“Is that what you were up to when you were here Daemon huntin’?! _Resistin’ arrest_?!” Dave incredulously grills the still sheepish Prompto.

“And what is the _meaning_ of this family reunion?!” Cor interrupts. “Is there a reason why there was opportunity for a wanted fugitive to have access to His Highness in such a state?!” Ignis clearing his throat.

“Approximately six days ago, the wanted fugitive before you appeared at the Citadel steps demanding an audience with His Majesty, claiming to have urgent information regarding the disappearance of Lady Lunafreya,” Ignis evenly explains, and Dave nods.

“And I believe it. Lady Lunafreya really took a liking to the kid. I’d even say Nyx got a little jealous, if I weren’t meant to keep the nature of their relationship under wraps,” Dave chuckles, though Prompto glares heavily at Gladio and Ignis, who frown stoically at Prompto in return.

“She’s one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had, and one of the greatest people I’ve ever met,” Prompto can barely maintain eye contact with Cor, whom he primarily addresses. “And the same goes for Nyx. Whatever my information could do to help find them safe and sound, even if it meant turning myself in, was worth it,”

Prompto surprises even himself with his even tone, and Cor stares harshly at the young man, eyes searching and meticulous.

“Noctis decided to heed his counsel and head for the Disc of Cauthess. It is here where Prompto claims to have heard Titus Drautos, Chancellor Ardyn Izunia of Niflheim, and a mysterious silver-haired figure Noctis suspects is Ravus discussing they had placed Luna’s trident,”

Cor gapes, and Dave clears his throat, lifting a pack of chewing tobacco from his pocket to excuse himself.

“Noctis felt it was best to make this journey to the Disc alone, leaving Gladio and myself with Prompto. While we cannot personally verify any of Prompto’s information, we still wanted to play our cards casually before Drautos, in case his word may turn out to indeed be true,”

“Damnit, Noctis…” Cor shakes his head at the napping figure, running a hand down his face in disbelief.

“His Majesty said that in exchange for my information, I would be pardoned of my previous crimes if I agreed to leave Lucis for good,” Prompto nervously pipes up, drawing Cor’s attention once more. “I could agree with that, but I wasn’t going to let him look for Luna alone. So I – I – I snuck away from – from them – “ Prompto nods towards Ignis and Gladio. “ – And I tried to follow after King Noctis as quickly as possible. He only had a few hours on me, and that was when I – when I found him –“ Prompto chokes, bringing his hand to his mouth as he clears his throat.

“Where?!” Cor snaps.

“Near a Haven right outside the Three Valleys. I – I was worried he was dead at first, but – he was – he breathing, and – and the first thing I thought to do was bring him to Dave. Who knew if they were still at the border, you know? So I brought him here, and Dave set him up right away. I, uh – I took His Majesty’s cell phone from his pocket and called uh – I-Ignis – “ Prompto awkwardly stutters before continuing. “ – And I told him I found King Noctis knocked up pretty bad by a Daemon. Barely alive, but alive. And that I was at the Hunter’s Outpost here, and that Hunters were watching him,”

“As you can imagine, our conversation was not very pleasant,” Ignis rolls his eyes. “Gladio and I hardly wanted to believe him, and seeing as he had escaped unlawfully for the second time, we were far from happy to hear from him. But feeling it too dangerous to risk Noctis’ health either way, we took his tip and made haste for the Outpost. We encountered car trouble with the Regalia along the way, and it was at miss Cindy Aurum’s garage that we were able to finally get through to you, Marshall,”

Cor sighs, and Gladio chews on the inside of his cheek.

“By the _Hexatheon_ , if that isn’t a lot,” Cor rubs his weary eyes, and the sudden silence in the conversation gracefully bows the orchestra of firewood crackling in the oven forward. The brows of the men glisten with sweat, their faces flushed by comfortable warmth.

“And why did either of you not contact me _sooner_?! You’re all almost as reckless as the king you serve!”

“It was _his_ choice,” Gladio curtly grunts, shooting his eyes quickly toward Noctis.

“And _you_ claim to have information about our comrades, and about Lady Lunafreya,” Cor reiterates, his eyes narrowing.

“ _Yessir_ …” Prompto humbly nods.

“And this is all information I am insisting I hear – and before you protest…” Cor raises his voice at Prompto, whose shoulders heave instantly with the breath of a retort. “…I will remind you that there is nowhere we can proceed as long as the King’s health is in question, and any further progress on finding Lunafreya shall have to wait. Whether this news suits you or not is irrelevant, as you are under the arrest and command of the Crown, and have little leverage to throw what little criminal weight you have around,”

Prompto drops his gaze, shamefully lowering his head as if a young boy scolded by his father.

“I have information of my own I wish to share with you before departing back to Gralea for reconnaissance,” Cor explains to Ignis and Gladio. “I feel we will have many ends to tie, and that this may all fit together, once all of our pieces converge,”

“Should I call Dave to get rooms prepared for us?” Gladio grunts.

“That would be a good place to start. I want him under our watch at all times,” Cor nods, ‘him’ naturally meaning _Prompto_.

“ _Right_ …” Gladio offers before slipping through the door.

The creaking sound of metal buckling under shifting weight swiftly catches the attention of the three remaining men; Noctis massages his forehead, eyes closed, groaning from disorientation.

“Are you awake, Highness?” Ignis calmly calls, and Noctis wearily smacks his lips in response before slowly opening his eyes and nodding.

“How, uh – how ya feelin’?!” Prompto strains his still frozen face into an awkward smile, thankful that Ignis does not turn down his attempt to converse with the man.

“Well, I’ve definitely felt better, but I can’t say that each little move I make leaves me wishing for death anymore…” he chuckles. “That medicine of yours…”

“It – it isn’t mine –” Prompto immediately stutters, going red and raising his hands in capitulation.

“I’ve been briefed on the situation, Highness…” Cor starts, and Prompto awkwardly steps a few paces back to offer them some semblance of privacy. “…and I am very disappointed that you have not reached out to me sooner about _any_ of this,”

Ignis uncrosses his arms, grabbing a thin metal rod that rests against the wall and tending to the slowly dying embers in the oven. Clearly he too, wishes to exempt himself from the scold that unfolds before them.

“It – it didn’t seem like a good idea to pull you all the way from Niflheim because of what just boils down to rumors, Cor…” Noctis wearily attempts to defend himself, lacing his hands together and resting them upon his stomach atop the blanket. The young king sighs impatiently; either he is irresponsible in his ability to rule in relying too much on outside sources, or not relying on them enough.

“Whether you felt it to be or not, I am here regardless of your ultimate choice, Your Majesty. Your foolishness on many accounts could have cost not only your own life, but the lives of Ignis and Gladio as well,” Cor scolds.

“You’re right, Cor…” Noctis concedes, bowing his head. “I should have reached out to you, at the very least…” he hardly has energy to debate his position.

“I understand if you do not feel up for the conversation tonight, but I will be conversing with Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto about what it is Prompto knows about Luna,”

“It would be unwise for the Marshall to leave for Niflheim once more without complete clarity of the situation,” Ignis nods, taking a log Prompto hands him and ushering it slowly into the stove he continues to tend.

“Understandable,” Noctis concurs. Whether he chooses to save his words due to exhaustion or a lack of argument, is a mystery Prompto silently ponders to himself.

“Is there anything you require before your next dosage, Noct?” Ignis calmly questions, and Prompto cannot help but admire the advisor’s rational, even-temperedness in the hulking visage of chaos.

“A prayer for magical cure so I don’t have to take another one,” Noctis smirks, the black whiskers of his beard stretching the edge of his playful smile.

“Please do not jest, Highness, I mean it in all seriousness,” Ignis huffs, placing his hand on his hips. Cor shakes his head, smiling grimly himself.

“You’ve always had the strangest ways of coping, Highness,” Cor scoffs.

“No, no – being alive is – is honestly good enough, for now…” Noctis slowly blinks, his voice trailing off as he loses himself in thought.

“You sure? While I will return with Dave to give you your dosages, I’m afraid we will be spending the majority of the evening in another building. Depending on this evening’s discussion, I can only spare one check-up an hour at _most_ ,”

“I’m fine, honest,” Noctis nods, voice dull, though genuine.

“…Night comes ever closer, gentlemen,” Cor clears his throat after many seconds’ silence. Sure enough, the excitement of the situation hardly left them aware of the sun’s beginning descent; the grey-white light settles into a rich navy blue. The only light sources stem from those turned on in the rooms of other buildings, and the fireplace that roars once more due to Ignis’ recent efforts. “And I fear our conversation will run late enough. If you are sure, Highness, then we’d best head over and begin,”

“Really, Cor. Thank you both for your concern, but I mean it. I’ll be fine as I _can_ be, with that awful medicine to look forward to.”

Cor chuckles once.

“I’ll be sure to relay my word to you tomorrow before I depart, Highness. I simply wish to give you enough time to recover from your foolish actions before burdening you,”

“…Yes, we are only in the next cabin over, Noct, but I promise either Gladio or myself shall be sure to check up on your every hour to make sure you are well and administer your medicine,”

“I don’t deserve either you or Cor,” Noctis warmly smiles, and Ignis cannot help but return the gesture.

“I’m not sure it’s a matter of _deserving_ , Highness, but I am glad you are on your way to recovery,” he nods, turning to Prompto, who wraps a black woolen scarf around his neck, and Cor, who grips the door handle. “Shall we begin?” Ignis formally questions, and Cor nods in the affirmative.

The silhouettes of their frames as they head toward the door bathe Noctis in a showering of shadow. The sounds of their boots against the dry wooden floor cause a dull pounding in Noctis’ temples -- though the king manages to bite back the pain enough to capture their attention with a soft cry of _“Wait!”._

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Cor worriedly, though evenly answers.

“Can – can I talk to Prompto for a second? A— _alone_ , please?”

“Highness –“ Ignis wearily starts, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. The requested, now wide-eyed and flushed, blinks rapidly as he focuses on the bedridden man.

“ _Please_ , Iggy – if he was going to kill me, he would not have carried me here, contacted you, and helped me with recovery,”

Cor and Ignis both share a look with one another; Prompto’s sheepish frame threatens to overtake the fire as a heat source.

“I shall wait outside for you to finish your discussion. Cor, please proceed and tell Gladio and Monica I shall catch up with Prompto in tow momentarily,”

Cor nods, both men sparing Noctis a final look before heading outside and closing the door behind them.

Prompto focuses one ear on the crackling log the fire raucously consumes; the other attempts to make heads or tails of Ignis’ and Cor’s muffled voices, drowned out by the wall and the sound of snow crunching under their boots.

The two of them had not spoken properly since their argument in the Citadel nearly a week ago. The residual wave of anger threatens to overtake Prompto after five days’ fermentation in the darkest point of his thoughts. The fury at being labeled an untrustworthy dissident doomed to exile after confinement, causes his stomach to rumble with the urge of healthy protest.

When Noctis opens his mouth, wreathed in his beard, overgrown to the thickest state Prompto had ever seen, the blonde swears for the most fleeting of moments he motions to argue with Noctis’ father, rather than his son – he instantly prepares a defense that would take all of Eos’ self-control to not raise in volume.

“…Listen,” Noctis starts, and Prompto, despite all of his instincts wishing to verbally slash the feeble king apart, is quiet.

“I know that our relationship is _kinda_ complicated…” Noctis cannot help but widen his eyes briefly as he thinks further on this fact. “…and probably always _will_ be…”

Noctis exhales curtly, interrupting himself and closing his eyes. Whether words fail him due to exhaustion or embarrassment, he cannot even answer himself. Prompto folds his arms across his chest, pink tongue wetting his chapped, frost bitten lips.

“…But no matter what happens, or _has_ happened between us, I owe you my life,” Noctis finally finishes, and Prompto inhales sharply. “I can admit _that_ much to you, man to man. With Luna missing, there’s no one left to heal Starscourge. Even if I had been found by Eos’ greatest doctors or physicians, there would have been nothing they could do against a Daemon wound this fatal. But it was _you_ who found me, and took me to where _you_ knew I had hope of survival, if any at all. And it’s not something to just take for granted…”

Noctis’s breath shakes, though he lifts his head and looks Prompto in the eye. The blonde however, still maintains his defensive position, though an unmissable softness relaxes the intensity of his stance. “There’s not a single advisor in my Kingdom who can convince me otherwise. I should be _dead_ , Prompto, and I know that,”

“…You know what the irony of all this is, though?” Prompto finally starts, darting his gaze upward from the floor, and onto the man he finally finds the voice to address. “Even as the one man on Eos who could allegedly save the King, his men and subjects are still going to see me as someone who doesn’t belong in their realm,” Prompto steps forward, voice shaking.

“I could save the King and find Luna and Nyx on my own, assure eternal peace between Niflheim and Lucis, even, but it doesn’t matter. Because no matter what I do, I’ll always be a pariah and a _criminal_ to you,”

Noctis breathes in slowly through his nose, reluctantly allowing Prompto’s words to wash over him. Their eyes never break the lock they hold on those of the other, even where Noctis finds himself unable to face the hurt that commandeer Prompto’s a second longer.

“Look, I know I can do better for you as your King –“

“That’s _not_ what I mean…” Prompto quickly snaps, and Noctis cannot help but grow annoyed at Prompto’s presumptuous, irritated interruption; what else could the blonde mean with such vehement ferocity, if not the relationship between King and subject?

“I thought – I guess I thought maybe you’d remember by now…”

“Well, sorry if between the severe _bodily trauma_ and infinite stress has fucked with my memory a bit!” Noctis spits, but Prompto shakes his head and folds his arms.

“This goes _way_ beyond tonight. I thought, maybe you’d remember at the Citadel, or that night on your birthday –“

“Remember _what_?!” Noctis almost childishly snaps.

“Maybe that you’re the _whole_ entire reason that I ever felt Lucian in the first place!” Prompto blurts, clearly growing frustrated. He rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head and exhaling slowly. Noctis gapes. His brow slowly furrows – both from confusion, as well as from the slight pounding from before that solidifies itself as a genuine headache – and his mind draws the brightest, dullest blank imaginable.

“I’m…” he starts, taken very far aback. “I don’t get what you mean…”

“You’re the first person in my whole life who ever made me feel like I’m worth something – like I belong, _here,_ in _Lucis_ …”

“What?” Noctis asks incredulously, following Prompto as he saunters to lean against a stretch of wall by the bed. He slams backward against it, the wall supporting his back as he folds his arms and points his vision out the window.

“So I guess you really _don’t_ remember…” Prompto disappointedly mumbles. A particularly loud _crack_ of the fiery log is the blonde’s only audible response. The spicy, earthy scent of searing wood mixes with the arid air in the cabin, causing Prompto to sniff.

In a show of resignation, Noctis slowly shakes his head no after nearly half a minute’s deliberation.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause I was _young_ , or maybe being the prince, you saw hundreds of little Gralean refugee kids a day…” Prompto softly starts, Noctis narrowing his eyes in concentration. “You came to my school, and hell if I know why – I didn’t even _care_ why, the more I thought about it as time went on. But it was lunch, and I remember you were touring my school. You were _swarmed_ – by reporters, classmates, teachers, your own _Glaives_ …”

“Mmn…” Noctis hums in acknowledgment when Prompto pauses.

“Even as a seven year old, I knew it was pretty major. I vaguely remembered your dad in person, since he helped us here and there at the embassy. I just remember seeing _you_ , and thinking of how stressed out you seemed, being surrounded by so many people…but I’ll never forget when you saw _me_ , though,” Prompto turns his head to look at Noctis, back still slumped against the wall.

“You saw me eating alone, and you asked me why,”

“Why _what_ …?” Noctis softly presses, and Prompto can’t help but laugh softly.

“Why I was eating _alone_ ,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t exactly winning awards in self-esteem, you know. I was really overweight, I was still struggling with Lucian, since it would be a couple years before my parents stopped speaking any Gralean at home, and I was one of the only blondes in a sea of brown-and black-haired, _Lucian_ kids…” Prompto rolls his eyes at the thought, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before continuing.

“Basically, you could have picked any reason in the world to think why I was eating alone, and it would have been a winner, but more than _any_ reason, it was because I wasn’t _Lucian_ , they said – now I mean, I _get_ it, alright?!” Prompto interrupts Noctis, for the man breathes in quickly, jaw dropping as if he wishes to comment.

“We were _kids_ , you know? And like, this is only a good twenty years after one of many ceasefires between Lucis and Niflheim – I was going to school with kids who’d lost parents and friends and relatives to who _knows_ what kinda shit the Niffs were pulling, and that’s just what the history books could manage to get away with publishing in textbooks.

I get why, to a bunch of seven year olds, an oddball in every way imaginable was a no-go at recess. But you didn’t care. I just remember you asking me why I was all alone, and I don’t remember what I said – I wish I could. But you sat down next to me, and the whole kingdom knew it. And when everyone saw you sitting with me, they figured, _hey, how bad can he really be?!_ And that was it. If I was cool enough for a Prince, I must be cool in general, right?!” Prompto strainedly asks.

“All of a sudden, people made an effort to get to know me. I made friends, joined all kinds of clubs, lost weight…from then on? I belonged. More than any paper your dad signed, any passport, any court document…” Prompto finishes.

“Why do you think I’ve _trusted_ you this whole time?”

The blonde amends his final statement so quickly, Noctis wonders if he truly heard the other man correctly. But when he sees a vulnerability in the blonde’s eyes that match his tone of voice, Noctis knows the words were not imagined.

Yet Noctis is able to fight his own sense of shame, and finally reach a moment of clarity; he’d wondered why the blonde had felt so comfortable around him, even given the difficult nuances of their very rocky connection.

 “I’m sorry, Prompto…” Noctis chokes, and when Prompto turns to face him, he sits upright, head in his hands. If he was seven, that would have made Noctis seventeen, cognizant, though nearly fifteen years had passed since then. Even after Prompto’s detailed recollection of his memory, Noctis cannot say he remembers the same points with the same vivacity; while he could say he faintly recalls taking a day off his own schooling to tour various public elementary schools in the Crown City, the schools had been many, and the children encountered even more numerous…

“…I’m sorry that I can’t remember such a serious and defining moment for you; I mean that…” Noctis slowly drags his face from the prison of his palms, staring absentmindedly at the wood stove a few feet away from the bed’s edge. His regret is genuine; for as monumentally prominent his inferiority complex as prince and king had plagued him, he’d forgotten one of assuredly many instances in which he’d meant the world to a subject. Forgotten and systemically driven that same subject to a life of crime, at that.

“You know? _Honestly_ , when I think about it…” Prompto croaks. He slowly hoists himself off the wall and walks towards a small table on the other side of the room, flicking on a shaded lamp that rests atop it. Noctis is grateful for the soft glow of the orange light that mingles gently with the flames that lick pointed shadows along the walls. He is grateful that providence had cast them both in her net with an omniscience so godly that would leave even The Six envious.

For the first time in thirty years of bearing the Caelum name, Noctis finds comfort, meaning, _validity_ in his existence.

“…I’m glad you don’t remember. ‘Cause if you did? That’d make the way you’ve completely screwed Niflheim Lucians with your decrees even _worse_ …”

“Well…” Noctis sadly scoffs, wincing as he brings an arm to scratch his lower back – though he wonders how much Prompto’s direct chastisement of his character contributes to the pain he feels. Prompto recoils slightly at the sound, subconsciously edging closer to the bed. “You’re right. I can’t say that I would have made the right choice even if I _did_ remember, but it leaves me looking like a _tiny_ bit less like a disgrace to the family name…”

The metal creaks awkwardly as his weight shifts.

“And look, Prompto, it’s – it’s all too little, far, _far_ too late…” Noctis starts, bringing a hand to clutch his chest where his wound twinges, even where the accelerated healing works its wonder. “…I talked to Luna, the night of my birthday and –“

“I know…” Prompto can’t help but smile, gazing fondly at the opposite wall at the thought of the woman. “I told you what she’d said, remember? And that what she said, and my _own_ memory of you, it – it brought me to you…”

“Well, I – I’ve been wanting to make this right – for _months_ …” Noctis frowns, staring at his own hands as they rest atop the blue comforter that conceals his legs. “I owe you _more_ than my life. I owe you the world I’ve taken _away_ from you, and – and I can’t say how I will yet, but I promise you, Prompto, when – when this is all said and done, I’ll…”

But just what it is Noctis pledges, he immediately forgets when he makes eye contact with Prompto. Whatever beauty Noctis felt the man he’d first known as _Adrian_ possessed, Prompto had stolen both it, as well as Noctis’ own breath. The vulnerability returns to his blue eyes, watchful and carefully fixed upon the king, on whom he eagerly awaits to finish his thought. His soft lips are just barely parted in disbelief, and even underneath the dirt and ice upon his cheeks, Noctis does not fail to miss the red of the blush that begins to grace them.

Whatever beauty or charm _Prompto_ had once possessed – or any man who had previously captured Noctis’ brief fancy, at that – none of it could measure up to Prompto before him, _now_ , alone.

“I’ve only _added_ to things, though…” Prompto’s rebuttal breaks their trance, both literally and metaphorically. With the utterance, Prompto turns away from the king, throwing his head up to look at the ceiling as he slowly paces the width of the room, clearly nervous.

“I’m – I don’t quite get what you mean…” Noctis whispers. He clears his throat, sheepishly darting his eyes away from the slowly striding blonde in an attempt to recenter his thoughts.

“I – I _kinda_ ran away from Ignis and Gladio when I was in their custody, disobeying orders, evading arrest _again_ –“ Prompto slowly reminds the black haired man, a single eyebrow raised.

“Look – _Prompto_ , even apart from your earlier point, this goes back to my _own_ earlier one; you were the _one_ person who could save me from certain death, and you did. Call it an abuse of power, but for that? I’m more than willing to pardon you for saving my life…”

“You mean that?”

It takes a second’s notice for Noctis to realize Prompto had ceased his pacing. Noctis nods.

“And I already denied your request to join me in my search for Luna last time, and the only reason why I can live to talk about it is, well – kinda _obvious_. Even if you _are_ a criminal, it was wrong of me to deny you the dignity of searching for someone you’ve clearly come to care for…”

“You _really_ mean this, Your Majesty?” Prompto repeats. Noctis softly smiles as he leans backward against the pillow, breathing shallowly to not upset his injury.

“I don’t think fever dreams are a side effect of the medicine, but you’re the one who knows about it, not me…we can work out details tomorrow, after a few more of those damn doses are out of the way, but yes – I mean it.”

Prompto smiles, though the expression quickly fades; he folds his arms, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.

“I _kinda_ have a hard time believin’ your Glavies or the Marshal will have fun swallowin’ that idea,”

“Mmm…” Noctis nods in agreement, doing his best to conceal his eye roll from Prompto; it was still important to save face regarding his royal circle, be he indebted to Prompto or not.

“I think I passed out for most of the description of just how you all became _one happy family_ …” Noctis sneers, and Prompto sighs, leaning this time with his shoulder against the wall.

“Trust me, Your Majesty, we uh – we don’t _talk_ if we don’t have to. It’s been kind of a weird situation, especially ‘cause I found you, and had been giving you your doses up until today. They’re not happy with me running away – at _all_ , but I think we all kinda have a lot bigger things going on,”

Prompto awkwardly digs the toe of his boot into the wooden floor with such friction an ember could set the cabin ablaze. “I guess you could say, we keep it strictly business. Well, at least Ignis and I do. I still don’t think Gladio’s too happy with me…”

“I don’t need to have been awake the last three days to know you’re probably right…” Noctis agrees, and Prompto laughs once, exhaling a soft _“yeah”._

“…But don’t worry. I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to all of them tomorrow. You don’t say anything tonight about my pardon or agreement to help me look for Luna when you say your piece in there. It’s not your job to deliver that verdict, and it would only cause _more_ drama that I would frankly prefer would just fuck off until tomorrow morning. So just stay out his way, as much as you can,”

“No need to tell _me_ twice,” Prompto innocently raises his hands, the violent rumbling of Noctis’ empty stomach drawing both of their trains of thought.

“You hungry? Trust me though, outpost food’s nothing like the Citadel,” Prompto tries to joke, though Noctis shakes a hand in protest.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure Iggy’ll help me with meals when he comes in to treat me,”

“Yeah, don’t wanna be accused of trying to _poison the king_ anyway…”

“Hmm…” Noctis nods in agreement with Prompto’s fair point. “Which is another interesting question – why in the world _did_ you save me?”

“What?!” Prompto gapes, as if blindsided that Noctis would wonder such a thing.

“It could have been your chance – leave me for dead, go back to Insomnia, start a coup…” Noctis casually suggests, though Prompto frowns at the implication, even in jest.

“Look, I would have done it for _anyone_ , okay?” Prompto humorlessly begins, and Noctis reigns in his playful tone to do the blonde the courtesy of giving him his honest attention.

“I see people hurting, and I wanna help them. Whether they’re Graleans living in Lucis like me, people outside the crown city terrified of Daemons, my friends who went missing without a trace, or – or the person I once thought the _world_ of as a kid, who just so happens to be the _King of Lucis_ …” Prompto raises his eyebrows, though he pointedly looks anywhere in the room other than Noctis. “I see people hurting, and I wanna help. I’ve suffered so much my _whole_ life that it sucks to see other people in that state too. That’s one thing I’ve learned about myself; I can’t just sit there and watch people suffer,”

Prompto looks up, shocked to see that Noctis observes him with a glint in his eyes the blonde cannot quite identify. It’s a deep look, grey eyes clouded nearly impenetrable with an unknown energy that causes Prompto to shiver where he stands – not entirely unpleasantly…

His breath catches in his throat as Noctis swings his clothed legs out from the bed and sets them upon the floor – gingerly, slowly, and not without a couple clear pauses to adjust to the pain it causes him – but successfully nonetheless.

“There are worse personality flaws to have other than a saving people complex, right?” Prompto attempts to ease a bit of the tension that washes in the silence that follows both his explanation and Noctis’ careful attempt at standing upright for the first time in four days.

“That Hi Potion stuff – it’s _incredible_ , Prompto…”

“Mhm,” Prompto nods, though he grimaces at the sound of Noctis cracking various joints in rapid succession.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ll lie back down in a sec – ‘specially before Ignis checks up on me…”

Prompto snorts in a brief fit of laughter that manages to escape chest, though he quickly corrects himself.

In retrospect, Noctis would _indeed_ give his life if it meant spending time with the relaxed Prompto before him.

“It reminds me, actually…” Noctis starts, slowly lowering himself so that he sits on the edge of the bed, slowly twisting his ankles. “How in the world did you manage to carry me _here_ , _alone,_ _at night_ , from the _Three Valleys_ without as much as a _scratch_?!”

“Well…” Prompto smirks, smiling nervously. “Uh, adrenaline rush, for one! Lots _and lots_ of adrenaline…” he nervously trails off. “For _two_ , I _didn’t_ …”

“Meaning?” Noctis raises an eyebrow, though his face quickly morphs into one of disbelief as Prompto steps closer to the lamp. The blonde pulls his sweater up to his shoulders, revealing his creamy, freckled chests and abs – as well as a completely healed, though very visible diagonal slash from his belly button down to his hip bone.

“Ronins clearly have their favorite weak spot on a human when goin’ for the kill, am I right?!” Prompto attempts to casually diffuse the severity of the injury. Noctis, however, refuses to take the bait, furrowing his brow and leaning forward to get a better look at the scar.

“Uh, I think you got a point…” Noctis sadly agrees, marveling at how well the injury had repaired itself in only four days’ time.

“It was a shallow cut – I didn’t stay to fight, not with you dying, and the Outpost so close…” Prompto explains.

“Still, I – I’m sorry, it’s because of me you have the cut in the first place…”

“I’m tellin’ you, I only had to go through three Hi Potion dosages before it completely closed up – it’s fine…” Prompto assures him, though he nearly chokes on his spit when Noctis drags a hand to stroke the healed injury, his cool touch instantly heating Prompto’s skin.

“It’s healed, this well, after four days?! A _Daemon_ scar?! By _Ramuh’s staff_ , if that Hi Potion isn’t amazing…” Noctis whispers, and Prompto slowly nods, his thought process flowing into static as the man only inches before him nearly devours his body with his eyes. Noctis places his hands on Prompto’s hips, steadying himself for support as his own injury leaves him less and less able to sit up without help.

“Luna’s an incredible woman…” Prompto whispers, his skin tingling hot where Noctis’ fingers readjust their grip, grey eyes studying Prompto’s own blue ones for his reaction…

“Noct? Noct! Have you two finished your conversation, yet?” Ignis knocks twice on the door before entering. Prompto pulls his sweater back over his chest and stomach. Noctis clears his throat, leaning further back from the blonde than their previous close proximity implied.

“Yes. Prompto was just explaining to me that he ended up getting into a skirmish with a Ronin while bringing me here, he uh – he was showing me the effects that a full dose of Hi Potion can have on healing scar tissue, especially in such a short time frame –“

 

“Yes, we’d seen the healed scar as well…” Ignis agrees, though his eyes are heavy with skepticism. “We all have our Stars to thank that you’re both alive. But they’re waiting on us, Prompto. It would behoove you to take your leave of His Majesty if he may be so willing to allow you do to so,”

Anyone who did not know Ignis very well would not have heard the pointed ending to his words. Prompto seems to miss the bite entirely. Additionally, he is completely oblivious to the sharp look Ignis’ eyes target onto Noctis, who still struggles his way with lying down.

“Right, uh – well, I – I appreciate it, Your Majesty – e-everything that you said –“

“I’ve told you before to call me Noctis. That hasn’t changed…” the older man interrupts, and Prompto stutters nonsensically before peering over his shoulder at Ignis. The blonde hated the calmer Glaive’s penchant for unreadable stoicism in the dozens of unsavory moments the two had managed to share over the course of a week.

“We’ll pick up with this in the morning,” Noctis adds, and Prompto nods before politely brushing past Ignis, making haste for the cabin housing Gladio and the others.

“…Pick up with _what,_ exactly?” Ignis sneers, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he observes the king, who settles back into bed.

“What we were talking about, duh – it’s all stuff I’ll brief you all with in the morning –“

“Noct –“

“I just don’t feel like dealing with it tonight –“ Noctis’ voice stubbornly raises, the man looking up to scowl at his advisor.

“Noct…”

“It’ll be easier to talk about after some sleep –“ Noctis hisses, punctuating his stilted words with the waving of his palm.

“ _Noct_ , I hope you know that very little regarding you escapes my keener sense of observation,” Ignis folds his arms, and Noctis groans as the door the other man holds open with his body allows freezing sleet and wind into the comfortable room.

“In or out, Iggy –“ Noctis grimaces, the man’s request cut short by the sound of the door slamming in the frame.

“It cannot be, Noct,” Ignis’ deep voice explains, slowly raising an eyebrow as the Noctis’ stomach audibly rumbles once again. He does not allow it to interrupt his forceful input “He’s a Gralean, Noct, and a commoner at that – and completely unable to continue the Caelum bloodline in either status or blood,”

“I – I – I don’t – “ Noctis stumbles over his words, fumbling conveniently with the comfort of his blankets to observe the half smirk of disbelief that Ignis shoots him. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Iggy –“

“I understand Gladio phrased his concerns in a much less tasteful way the other day, but there is no missing the way you look at Prompto – it is slightly concerning, to be quite honest…”

Noctis groans loudly, muffling the desperate plea as he buries his face into his hands.

“Do you really have to be so damn _astute_ all the damn _time_?!” Noctis laments, slightly mocking Ignis’ accent.

“I’d hardly call it _astute_ , as there’s nothing to be gained from fraternizing with Gralean criminals – and I’m your advisor Noct, it’s my _job_ to be observant,” he reminds him.

Noctis lies on his back, slightly elevated by the pillow, eyes boring helplessly into the ceiling.

“Even at the party, when he was just Adrian…” Noctis begins to confess, Ignis waiting patiently for him to finish doing so. “I – he –“

“I can understand, the two of you have been through a lot, not to mention with the newly added element of him saving you…”

“Yeah…” Noctis sighs, a thoughtful silence briefly breaking up their conversation.

“Are you _falling_ for him Noct?!” Ignis asks with such disbelief, that it almost seems as if he asks not for an answer, but for a denial of fear.

“There are _way_ bigger fuckin’ things to worry about Iggy, much bigger matters at hand –“ Noctis evasively spits.

“I don’t disagree, but as your advisor it is perhaps the most exemplary moment in which I should give you my counsel: your relationship with this man is to remain as formal and at arm’s length as possible,” Ignis firmly instructs, Noctis massaging his forehead.

“If you were him, would you jump to be anything _but_ formal with someone you believe is your eventual executioner?” Noctis hisses, and Ignis closes his eyes in solemn thought.

“I have _no choice_ , Ignis,” Noctis growls, and he says nothing else. Not even when Ignis attempts to discuss food or medicine, and not even when Ignis leaves his king alone to consider his wisdom in “peace”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we see why Prompto has oddly trusted Noctis since the beginning! He knows from Luna there's still good in the King's heart, and the Caelum family had played such a formative role in Prompto's life, that he refuses to give up on them.
> 
> Next chapter:  
> -The Gang and Cor part ways  
> -The Gang decide to leave for the Disc, Ignis and Gladio reluctantly respecting Noctis' wish that Prompto joins them, now they know he is telling the truth  
> -An unforseen event happens, taking The Gang into a direction even worse than they ever could have imagined!  
> -Way, way more Promptis moments!
> 
> If Noctis were a more emotionally literate person, he would have noticed that moment in their conversation as the very one in which he fell in love.
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying the story! A PhD is no joke. I can't say I'll have time for frequent updates, but when I write, I write.


	10. I think You're Good Enough For Me

The night before had been overcast. The heavily fortified, dark grey snow clouds linked together in a never ending chain of furious snow storms. Although the weather’s anger finally subsided enough to reveal a clear sky by seven in the morning, the Sun had yet to crack winter’s barrier. As a result, the cramped bedroom, the smallest in the wooden lodging cabin, is nearly pitch black – the exhausted remnants of a fire’s embers in the corner the only exception.

Prompto, whose cot is closest to the hearth, mistakes the warmth of Dave’s hand shaking him awake for the fire’s highly welcomed breath of renewal. The pressure on his shoulder nudges him, gently but firmly, instantly shattering his sleepy misinterpretation of his surroundings.

“Come on now, Prompto, time to get up – it’s nearly seven already,” Dave grunts, dressed in multiple, olive colored layers. The man must have woken at least a half hour ago.

Prompto offers no verbal protest. Weeks of missions with the Hunters before taught him better than that. Still, said missions had been in the Fall – earlier sunrises, warmer temperatures.

He sits up slowly. Itchy, tan blankets pool in his lap as he emerges from them. His yawn is long and silent, stretching his mouth so wide it nearly tears the edges of his dried, near frostbitten lips. His body length, egg white thermals can only insulate him from the chill for so long; it envelops him, leaving him to shudder as if the cold infests him like the worst infection.

“I’ve already given you an extra ten minutes’ sleep –“ Dave tries to reinforce his command, unable to look Prompto in the eye, as if doing so would usher ravenous pity, consuming him in one fell gulp.

“I – I’m not _complaining_ ….” Prompto briefly ceases to gather up his own discarded clothing from around his cot to retort.

An awkward silence follows Prompto’s rebuttal, one that Dave nods apprehensively in the wake of, looking for any opportunity to dispel it.

“I know, kid. Just don’t want you thinkin’ I’m the bad guy for having to get you up. One of the King’s men would’ve done it, but from the looks of things, they’re too busy workin’ on him to care ‘bout _you_ …”

Prompto titters a soft bark through his clenched teeth; he could hardly complain about the lack of wake up call from Gladio or Ignis.

“I’ll wait outside for you while you get dressed.”

The dry, drab wooden floor creaks under Dave’s weight as he makes good on his word. The cabin’s front door closes behind him.

Prompto shudders, knowing the convulsion is no overreaction when his breath visibly escapes his lips in a misty puff. His teeth threaten to shatter under their relentless chatter, the vibrations travelling all the way to the tips of his tingling toes. The harshness of even his own breath is traitorously sharp, cruel as it slices through the cracks of his dried lips. It’s quick to disperse into the dry cabin air. The room’s temperature barely passes for habitable, the longer Prompto ignores the call of his cot. Were it any colder, Prompto would swear the hands of Shiva herself rob the world of what little warmth remains.

The blonde endures another shudder as he reaches for a black, fleece lined undershirt. The lumpy but practical sweatshirt is warmer, having lingered closer to the fire than the rest of his clothes. A fire hazard, he mentally chastises himself – though only somewhat effectively, being half asleep.

He’s grateful for the lack of light, allowing him to avoid his reflection in the spotted mirror on the other side of the room. Prompto had grown to hate the sweater he wears – once grey, now discolored, rusty brown and stained with oil, blood, sweat and snow.

His sturdy, fur lined boots clunk weightily against the floor. Each further step is a beat of irritation, snaking through to his ear drum, acute and jarring where he slowly gains a bearing on his senses.

He steals a brief look at his cellphone’s screen in the middle of swiping a pair of gloves lying next to the device upon a bedside table.

_6:01am. A Thursday. Temperatures well into the negatives, even without wind chill. More snow expected to accumulate come evening, with a brief break in between squalls for the majority of the morning and afternoon._

Prompto smiles grimly at the phone. He’s grateful to still possess it, between his journeys to Altissa, to Insomnia. And the strip search. And his short-lived escape from the Kingsglaive. And carrying the King of Lucis on his back while sporting injuries of his own.

He chews on his lips, eyeing two silver revolvers glimmering like beacons upon a side table, even in total darkness. He curls and twists his hands into his dark brown leather gloves, attempting to shake away the cold.

It would be a good day if the firearms remained just as cold, unused upon the table.

Prompto tugs a grey parka unflatteringly upon his head, flinching as soon as he steps onto the cabin’s porch; the only striking sensation other than cold is the complete silence that rivals it in its intensity. It is even darker outdoors. The sky above, endlessly clear, shimmers with the smear of stars. An arm of the Milky Way streaks across heaven’s curve, outstretched as if to grant all of Eos a silent, friendly hello.

Yet even the cosmic spectacle above is far too quiet. Not a single footprint sullies the snow – many of the Hunters who typically inhabited the Outpost still had another day and a half of deployment before returning back to base. The wind is still, reluctantly resting after howling all night, like a petulant child who peacefully slumbers after refusing to sleep.

“That was quick,” Dave’s voice instantly startles Prompto attention away from the sky. His still receding exhaustion robs him of the ability to answer his friend outright, thus he settles with a hasty nod, followed by a violent shudder.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya…” Dave grunts, Prompto shaking his head.

“It – it’s _fine_ ,” he whispers, hands curled against his biceps in hope that the gesture can prevent his body warmth from betraying him.

“Just – you know, if there was one thing about exile that wasn’t so bad, it was the central heating in Altissa…” Prompto jokingly quips, though Dave frowns, knowing the slightest tell of bitterness in the blonde’s tone.

“Yeah, guess it was early September ‘nd October when you were helpin’ around here, huh?” Dave grumbles, leading the way down the short flight of wooden steps and onto the snow covered pathway. The crunch is satisfying, the snow fluffy, fresh, and dry under their boots.

“I don’t even really _know_ anymore…”

Prompto’s smile falters; keeping track of time paled in comparison to his need to stay alive that his lifestyle required.

The snow is bright white and yellow where the few light posts dot the pathway shimmer upon the blanket below. Prompto cranes his head upward, blinking up at the Milky Way once more, in awe of the black sky above him, the white earth below – a duality so chilling, he wonders if the world has ever once achieved such a balance, and if man were awake or complex enough to witness it.

“What’re you thinkin’ about that hard at seven in the mornin’?!” Dave chuckles, Prompto looking up from the frozen stream of snow beneath is feet.

“I – I dunno…” Prompto repeats, barely above a whisper. The banality of his repetitive, avoidant answers will only go unnoticed for so long.

“Looks like His Highness is finally awake –the Hi Potion dosages all through the night did wonders, if he’s standin’ up on his own so early in the morning…“ Dave nods toward the porch of the cabin upon which Prompto had sensed movement not too long ago.

Prompto slows to a stop as they pass through the porch’s field of vision. Sure enough, King Noctis stands upright – exhausted, visibly irritated, though on his two feet without the support of the others. His frame is hidden behind a thick, woolen pea coat, a black fur cloak fastened at his shoulders with splendid golden chains. He tries to avoid Noctis’ gaze as it meets his own, grey eyes instantly holding blue ones captive.

Noctis’ narrow in silent judgment, his lips pointed into a frown, albeit one entirely unreadable. Even from a distance, Prompto can see the way the King blinks. The gesture is torturously slow.

It does not stop Prompto from engaging in speculation, despite the assured agony to follow.

Had Noctis come to regret their conversation, his promise? Had the conscience of his dreams commanded him to retract his offer to allow Prompto to accompany him?

The kindness in his eyes from the night before is missing entirely. Almost naively, Prompto cannot help but mourn it.

He _studies_ Prompto – from his dirtied mismatch of Hunter’s garbs, the nervous shake of his lean body beneath the ragged garments, to the shallowness of the breaths he takes. He can only wonder how self damning he appears – disheveled and unkempt, filthy with endless layers of infernal scourge dried into the every thread of fabric he wears. The outfit meant to withstand winter’s ruthlessness cannot even begin to protect him from Noctis’ chilling, seemingly unforgivable scrutiny.

 _The moment is fresh_ – Prompto’s hasty inner monologue spurns him on, his heart pounding against a chest left so frozen by the frigid air he inhales, and yet it leaves him _hot_ , nervous and anxious, each breath threatening to shatter his ribs like glass – _if you look away, it’ll be like you never even noticed, you can write it off –_

And by the _Astrals_ , if Prompto does not try to wrench his head upward, to feign interest yet again in the limbs of the galaxy above, contorted throughout the sky like an endless, astronomical vine; but there is nowhere else for him to look, red faced, vulnerable, rooted so firmly where he stands, boots sinking into the sea of snow –

Dave waves silently at the two men as he passes, receiving a respectfully raised hand from Gladio in return. Noctis nods, quiet as well, Prompto’s gaze lingering on the man before he motions to catch up with Dave a couple of feet ahead.

“The taller one of his Glaives, the one with the glasses – “ Dave starts, quiet enough so only they can hear the initiation of their conversation as they continue up the path. “ – apparently the guy isn’t too bad of a cook, so he offered to make breakfast before that giant meeting they’re all supposed to be havin’ in a couple hours. Told us we were invited – to breakfast, that is,” he finishes. His expression can’t help but soften into disappointment as he glances at Prompto – eyes cast downward, face nearly as frozen with thought as the layer of ice that coats the surrounding oaks– Dave cannot help but wonder if the other Hunter had heard him at all.

“…that’s why I woke ya up kinda early – didn’t – didn’t wanna give the guy the time to retract the offer, you know…?”

“Mmm…” Prompto nods, hardly engaged and barely enthused.

“Though the more I look and talk to you, it’s startin’ to seem like the extra hour or two of sleep would’ve done you better than any kind of properly cooked meal…” Dave attempts to keep his tone light, though a gruffness peeks through the chuckle of his voice. As predicted, it did not take long for him to grow irritated with Prompto’s nonverbal aloofness.

“Not like I’ve had any of that in a long time anyway, right?” Prompto jokes back, Dave frowning as he wordlessly exhales.

“Well, breakfast ain’t the only reason why I got you out here early, you know,” Dave finally concedes, throwing his bubble coat clad arms into the air before turning to face the other trailing behind him.

“I _guess_ , I’m not sure….”

“You know, for a man who’s barely even twenty ‘nd yet he’s savin’ _Kings_ and huntin’ _Daemons_ and meetin’ _Oracles_ , you don’t seem to _know_ anything this morning…” Dave crosses his arms, cocking his head to the side, cushioned by the various black scarves coiled around his neck.

Prompto can’t help but laugh at the indignant comment, shaking his head. He twirls in a slow circle of resignation, fists balled, swinging slowly at his waist. Yet despite the chuckle of capitulation, Prompto finds the situation, and his ever growing sense of anxiety because of it, equally as humorless as his comrade.

“It’s funny, it’s _not_ knowing anything that got me in this mess to begin with…” Prompto laughs again, avoiding Dave’s fixed gaze. “Because I didn’t know what my future held, back in Insomnia, and I sure as hell don’t know what it holds going forward,”

Prompto exhales a shuddering sigh, his teeth clattering afterward.

“And, well, it got to the point where I couldn’t even go to college– I felt like it was the end of the line. Like if I didn’t try something, _anything_ , it was all just gonna get worse before it ever got better…”

“You’re right, and you’re not the only one,” Dave grunts, the two in step as they climb the snow covered incline. “If anythin’, you’re a few years behind the rest of us,”

“What do you mean?” Prompto wonders.

“There’s _lots_ of desperate people out here in Lucis. Daemons, they – they get to ya after a while. Imagine if you’re out here and don’t know how to use a gun or sword…” Dave sneers. Prompto’s silent, thin lips rolling under his teeth. “Just that you don’t see it if you don’t leave the Crown City.”

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to _cover_ it. Even after trying to make a difference, even after doing what little I could, I’m still out here, lost and confused – I have no idea _who_ I am, where I belong…” Prompto chokes, clenching his eyes shut. “I haven’t seen my parents in _months_ , haven’t _heard_ from them in forever. And I can’t even say I ever _will_. If I’m exiled after all this, I’d wanna keep my distance, so they don’t lose their citizenship. Funny, right?! They risked everything, and struggled for years to take me out of Gralea, and I end up being the one to jeopardize it all…”

Silences returns from its watchful role in early morning shadow, casting its influence across the entire campus. If Dave wishes to reply, he refrains. His lack of response does not deter Prompto from continuing.

“…If I die trying to find Luna and Nyx, how do I know King Noctis would tell my parents what happened to me? Do criminals even _get_ that kind of treatment? And – and if King Noctis decides to throw me before the Old Kings, or the Crystal for judgment…”

“You ever talk to people about this, kid? Seems like a lot to have on your chest,” Dave sighs, Prompto rolling his eyes, grinning in resigned disbelief.

“Who the hell could I tell?! And who would believe me? And who wouldn’t have thrown me to the wolves…” His voice chokes, and he tosses a look over his shoulder toward Noctis upon the balcony many feet away.

“Guess you’re right. Not like I would’ve believed you even if you had told me all those weeks ago.” Dave concedes.

They continue toward the mess hall in silence, the hulking wooden building cradled entirely in snow at the end of the wide road, as if cupped by Winter’s hands. A set of boot prints leaders to the door. A single yellow light streams through one of the kitchen’s few windows, a single lively pulse in the frozen corpse of the Outpost campus – Ignis must have long since woken up to begin cooking.

Their noses tingle pleasantly with the smoky smell of an oven’s warmth. Ripples of heat escape from a metal chimney, a thin beacon protruding awkwardly from the rickety roof like a rusty pimple.

“…but I can say I don’t regret it…” Prompto hisses minutes later, and when Dave turns around to acknowledge his friend, the blonde anchors his gaze to the ground. “That I know for sure.”

“Regret what?” Dave curiously wonders, eyes following Prompto as he raises his head, chuckling weightlessly.

“Don’t you know it by now?! I’m a _Niff_! By blood _and_ birth. Prompto isn’t my _actual_ name, and Argentum is just the name my parents decided to take on when they wanted to fit in and leave Niflheim behind. And Niffs don’t have a place in this kingdom. _He_ and Drautos have made that very clear,” Prompto turns around toward the cabin a few hundred feet behind them, the figures of Noctis and Gladio specks upon the roofed porch.

“But if I hadn’t lied to try to talk to him, I never would have ran away, or met you, Nyx, Luna, and the trail to try to find them would’ve been way colder than any of these cabins around here…”

“You mean His Majesty ain’t got a _clue_ where either of ‘em are?!”

Dave watches the sharp bob of Prompto’s Adam’s Apple as the man swallows before gingerly shaking his head no.

“…Well, I know things are kinda kooky in the Crown City, regardin’ folk like you,” Dave starts, Prompto absent mindedly packing a ball of snow in his gloved hands. “And I’m sorry for that. Even settin’ aside how I feel about Niffs – and it ain’t pretty – “ Dave amends his statement. Prompto winds his arm back, hurling the snowball in a vacant direction.

“It never _is_ ,” he snaps, and it diffuses into dozens of fluttering crystals.

“It doesn’t make how either Parliament or the Crown are treatin’ their _own_ right. And a citizen of Lucis is a Lucian, no matter where they’re born…”

At this, the corners of Prompto’s mouth just _barely_ twitch into the hint of a smile.

“That bein’ said though, you were spot on just a second ago. I don’t regret the fact that you’re one of _us_ , even if how you came to be ain’t so nice…”

“What do you mean?” Prompto’s expression softens under the weight of his curiosity, though his nearly frostbitten cheeks remain furiously red.

“I woke you up early for more than just breakfast, kid…” Dave clears his throat, a current of breath flitting quickly into the air. “It’s because we need to talk, and outta earshot of the _big wigs_ ,”

Prompto looks around, even where Noctis and Gladio have no chance of overhearing the quiet man’s words from so far away, Ignis and Cor also unable to eavesdrop.

“You’re a fine Hunter, Prompto. The scrawny misfit that stumbled onto our Outpost lookin’ for odd jobs and quick Gil ain’t nothin’ compared to the man before me now,” Dave compliments and at this, Prompto cannot help but grin, folding his arms and turning away in sheepishness. “With the Oracle Lunafreya missin’ for so long, Daemon rates are triplin’ outside Insomnia’s Wall, and we need all the men and women willin’ to fight them we get can,”

“Dave –“ Prompto starts, though the other man holds up a woolen glove, his point unfinished.

“What’re your plans, Prompto? What’re you _doin_ ’ out here?!” Dave finally closes, and Prompto gives him a few seconds’ more before he parts his frost burnt, chapped lips.

“King Noctis took my lead and tried to find Luna himself. He tried to confine me to the Citadel, since I’m a prisoner, but I ran after him. That’s when I found him barely alive, bleeding his guts out. Then I brought him here,”

“I _know_ that, Prompto, but what’re your plans now he’s back on his own two feet?!”

Prompto shudders, exhaling shakily. The wind also appears to awaken once more, the first element of the natural world to rise.

“I’m going with him,” Prompto solemnly informs him, internally surprised at the conviction in his own voice. “I risked my neck to tell him about Luna and Nyx, and I’m not just gonna give up here, and call it a done deal,”

Prompto’s frowns. His eyes narrow, the young man able to read the heaving sigh of Dave’s shoulders even underneath his bulky garments to await his rebuttal.

“He’s got Glaives for that, Prompto –“

“He didn’t have them that night outside of Hammerhead,” Prompto hisses, his face growing tense with onset conviction. “You, Nyx, Luna – you guys are the only ones who ever treated me like I was _anybody,_ like I’m _human_ , and I’m not gonna be the only person who may know how to save them and leave it into the hands of someone else –“

“That _someone else_ is the _King of Lucis_ , Prompto!” Dave quietly whispers, his eyes wide and reproachful. “Do you know what it is you’re gettin’ yourself into, travellin’ with the King and his Glaives to find the Oracle?”

“But being a Hunter, it’s _so_ much easier, _so_ much safer! Slaying Daemons is just another day in _paradise_!” Prompto hysterically retorts, ambivalent that the volume of his voice rises to a level that may leave their conversation vulnerable to royal ears. “All in a day’s work, right?!”

“I’m the last person to imply that a Hunter’s life ain’t as dangerous as what you’re talkin’ about gettin’ into out there,” Dave holds up another hand in the wake of Prompto’s rising aggression. “But what I’m sayin’ is – is – “ Dave chokes, struggling with the words. “If this is to prove a point, you’re _foolin’_ yourself,” he continues with a new found resolve, Prompto looking up from the ground.

“If this is about you tryin’ to earn some kingly _favor_ , or respect –“

“I –“ Prompto starts, voice quivering. “I’ve got nothing to prove, this is about – this is about them, Nyx, Luna –“

“You can save that man’s skin as many times as you like, and you can rescue Luna from the Infernian himself with your eyes closed, butt naked. You could slay every Daemon from here to steps of the Citadel, kid –  but it ain’t gonna change the way they view you…”

“They _who_?!” Prompto sneers back, hissing and closing his eyes, throwing his head back. The tears that collect in the corners of them threaten to spill over the ducts and down his already aching, irritated face.

“They, Prompto – Lucians, Insomnians, _him_ –“ he firmly drills, though almost guiltily so. Prompto grunts, stiff and tense with silent, internal anguish. He paces in circles of denial, kicking a layer of snow into the air in frustration.

The words hurt.

It would be dishonest to say, even to himself, that the thought of rescuing Luna alongside Noctis had not illuminated a glimmer of hope within him – a glimmer of hope that the King would retract his verdict of Prompto’s exile, that he would see the value, worth, and loyalty of Niflheim Lucians, rescinding his decrees, ushering in a new era of peace between the two nations.

Prompto could genuinely claim the priority lay on the idea of rescuing his two of his dearest friends. Even in spite of his virtuous courage, he could not be so shrewd to deny the thought of successfully rescuing his friends would prove his worth as a Gralean before all the world, let alone Lucis.

“It might sound selfish, like I’m tryin’ to keep you here at the Outpost, but – but it ain’t, it’s comin’ from the _heart_ , Prompto,” Dave softly assures the quiet man who stands across from him, silent tears trickling slowly down his cheeks, brazen into frozen blades by wind chill. “The only reason why I’m not insisting on taggin’ along with the royal entourage myself is because I got a place to run here, and an oath to the people of Lucis to keep them safe from those beasts out there, and I don’t take that oath lightly,”

“I _know_ that!” Prompto groans, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed under the duress of emotion. “I don’t either!”

“Look, Prompto, you’re a good man, and a good Hunter. When you came back to us outta nowhere for the first time in months, I gotta admit, I hoped maybe you were comin’ back for good. But it didn’t take me long ‘til I figured you were in some pretty deep shit with the King of Lucis slung over your shoulder. Still, you’re talkin’ about gettin’ involved in an even more dangerous game out there. Whoever took Luna and Nyx ain’t gonna be happy that the King himself is investigatin’ it, now. And the trials of trying to find her ain’t gonna be pretty, either. You’re talking about a lot more than just killin’ Bombs on the side of the road, now…”

Prompto nods in understanding.

“But don’t think that’s why I’m insisting on going with them,” Prompto whispers, bringing a nearly frostbitten hand to bluntly wipe away the moisture on his face. “This is for Nyx and Luna, and if it were you instead of them, I’d do the same. I’m already exiled, and it’s not like I can just live a normal life, wanted by the Crown of Lucis…” he blanches, guilt creeping once more; his statement is earnest – where his driving passion does stem from not wanting to sit idly by whilst others handle the search for the two, the selfish lining of a cleared name leaves a bitter smudge upon his moral compass…

“’Nd what happens after you find them? What reward would you want for all this? If you’re alive, The Six willin’…” Dave concernedly wonders, Prompto taking a solemn half a minute to conceive of an answer, his eyes glazing over as he does so.

“…To see my family…” Prompto whispers, his eyelashes nearly freezing from the dusting of snow the returning wind breezes against his face. “To be allowed to return to Insomnia and see my family – _even_ just once…” he stares down at his feet. “In the beginning, this was all about earning my right to work, go to college – now, I’d just like to see my family, and let them know I’m okay, that – that even in a country that hates us, I still did her proud…”

Prompto chokes, sniffing. “Because you’re right. It doesn’t matter what I do, my Lucian citizenship may not be re-granted, and my criminal status may not get cleared, and – and my own King may still ban me from Lucis…but you can’t say I ever did wrong by my friends, the same way you guys have never done wrong by me. If I’m gonna live a life as an exiled fugitive, then I might as well dedicate it to finding two of the only people who’ve treated me like more than the scourge of Eos…”

“Well spoken, kid, even if it sounds like you won’t be stayin’ after all…” Dave smiles smally, Prompto’s eyes widening from guilt.

“If – if I’m not sent before the Old Kings, I – I promise, I’ll come back!” Prompto nods. “Trust me, I want to! And there’s nowhere else I’d rather _be_ , once I know Luna and Nyx are alright…”

“Glad to hear it, ‘cause uh, another reason why I got you up so early was because I wanted to settle somethin’, in case we don’t get the time to once things start pickin’ up later today…” Dave rummages in a coat pocket, producing a silver, balled chain, upon which two sleek dog tags dangle in the middle.

“Whether you’re back for good startin’ today, tomorrow, ten years from now – these’re yours,”

“Dave, no – no way –“ Prompto chokes, blinking rapidly as he takes the metal into his hands. He stares incredulously down at the embossment of _Prompto Argentum_ into their surface, as well as his personalized Hunter identification number – one assigned to him months ago, before leaving to Altissa.

“Went ‘nd made ‘em when you met in that meetin’ yesterday, and I figured out your real name. No matter what happens out there, you’re always welcome _with Hunters_.  Even if you can’t serve us in Lucis ‘cause of your banishment, you still got a place. And if you go ‘nd find them, and at the end of it, you got these now, so no matter what they say you aren’t – citizen, Lucian, whatever, they can’t tell you what you _are_ – and that’s a Hunter –“

Prompto instantly lurches forward, enveloping him in a tight, heartfelt hug, one they hardly feel due to the sweaters and coats between them. Dave nearly wheezes from the impact, Prompto’s arms laced around his shoulders, dog tags tight in his hands.

“Thank you, Dave – for everything – these – these are – you have no idea –“ but a muted sob stifles any further comment, Prompto’s frame shaking softly in Dave’s arms, the older man rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“I know, kid. I know….” The man sympathetically mumbles, patting Prompto on the shoulder as he slowly pulls away.

“Well…” Prompto shudders through a stifled sob, smiling wetly. “At least _one_ of us does.”

* * *

 

It is only when Prompto observes the breakfast spread across the surface of a medium-sized table that he ceases to regret waking up so early.

Greek yogurt chills in a metal bowl, the temperature regulated by a wreath of fresh snow surrounding it, recently gathered from outside. Atop the snow rests thick crescents of succulent fruit – cantaloupe and honeydew to the left, green grapes and oranges to the right.

A smaller bowl of thinly sliced almonds leads into the more savory options; long, thick strips of freshly fried bacon drip grease onto the plain, aging plate they rest upon. Sausages links, perfectly browned, are neatly arranged on the other side. A hearty heap of hash browns nearly lose the white onions against the white bowl containing them, matching the rest of the heavily used dishware.

Prompto’s eyes sway from the heap of wholegrain toast to the bowl of muesli beside it. Dozens of the honey brown flakes sink into his rapidly warming yogurt splattered nervously on his plate. From the least trustworthy corner of his eye, Prompto could almost swear he registers Noctis’ lingering gaze before it drifts away.

Heat and color race to leave their mark on Prompto’s cheek. His hands nearly crush the tongs he uses to distract his anxiety with the thought of a bacon strip. Their silver handles are warm, murky enough with condensation to obscure Noctis’ reflection, hulked over as he shares hushed, solemn words with Ignis.

Maybe he had only imagined it.

It is not long before the bacon on his plate shrivels like a foreign slipper around the edges, curled into a withered, meaty bow. He chances a subtle glance at Noctis and his plate – piled high with meat and fried potatoes, buoyant on a sea of congealing grease – Gladio’s next to him completely cleared, smears of sausage gristle tarnishing orange peels and forgotten morsels of honeydew.

Prompto shudders, taking his tray and seating himself at an empty table, though not one so far away that it would draw the attention of the other men seated elsewhere. Dave clears his throat, excusing himself from his conversation with Gladio. He busses his plate, scraping left overs into a metal waste bin and placing his dishware into an old sink. He aims the subtlest of nods toward Prompto, who clenches his jaw as the other man takes his leave.

His appetite nearly disappears with him.

He tries to prevent his sausage link from rolling onto the table, spearing it with his fork. Eyes burn into the back of his neck, deliberate and contemplative. A brief look over his shoulder shows that Noctis and Gladio clearly discuss him, their mouths barely moving, and their bodies rigid.

Shoulder length black hair, now cleaned and combed, frames the King’s stony face. Grey eyes meet Prompto’s for what is not the first time that morning, one barely even hitting the seventh hour. Gladio’s own slowly close, as if resigned. Noctis’ lips careen into a scowl.

The glare is all it takes to cause Prompto to look away. He chops the now nauseating sausage in half with the edge of his spoon. The warmth of the canteen inspires Prompto to shed a handful of his layers, shrugging coats and sweaters off his shoulders until he is left in his waffled thermals.

The loud scraping of multiple chairs behind him assaults his ear drums.

He can feel the displacement in the air as a larger body – most likely Gladio’s – shakes his head, also leaving the cafeteria. A brief swirl of cold wind insists on entering in his stead, and Prompto shivers at the wholly unfortunate decision to discard his sweater indeed.

A warm weight upon his shoulder anchors him still, however. He blinks rapidly at the unexpected gesture. His heart nearly jumps from his throat when he registers the black _ring_ upon the very same hand.

He can feel the smoothness of the onyx as the hand slides down from his shoulder, and across the exposed nape of his neck before trailing between his covered shoulder blades, finally departing from his skin. He does not expect Noctis to swing a leg over the bench, lowering himself into a comfortable position as he delicately sits down – clearly still in pain from his mostly, though not completely healed wound.

“May I take a seat beside you?” Noctis formally whispers. Prompto barely nods. Gladio and Cor are long gone. Ignis tends to the breakfast spread.

Surely Noctis had not forgotten that the King of Lucis need not ask permission nor seek politeness of a wanted Gralean criminal.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of mornings…” Noctis grunts. It is all Prompto can do to stop himself from tearing away from the table, catching up with Gladio and Dave. He freezes instead. His eyes scan Noctis more thoroughly, sealing away his last chance to run.

Though his beard and hair are washed, and color has returned to his skin, he clearly suffers from exhaustion. His narrowed eyes slowly lid themselves closed, as if the man fights residual notes of sleep’s siren song.

His black button down is fresh – most likely provided by either Ignis or Gladio, who assuredly had provisions of many sorts within the Regalia.

“Yeah, _uh_ …” is all Prompto can choke out.

“I know the _Hi-Potion_ thing says that amnesia can present itself as one of its many side effects, but I haven’t forgotten our conversation from last night; I have every intention of departing from Dave’s excellent care later this afternoon, with you as a member of my search party for Luna and Nyx,”

Prompto blinks. Clearly he wished to get straight to the point. The authoritarian Noctis-turned-kind-and-casual-turned-once-again-formal confuses him greatly.

“That – that’s good…” Prompto slowly nods, clearing his throat, bringing his hand to coyly cover his mouth.

“I have already broken the news to Gladio, Ignis, and Cor over breakfast. While they’re hardly pleased with you or my decision, they have all agreed that you have proven your devotion to finding Luna and Nyx, and understand that your allyship in this matter is both wise and advantageous,”

The middle of Prompto’s brow scrunches at the formal speech – had the three men suggested Noctis erect personal distance between them in exchange for his temporary trust of Prompto?

“Yes, Your – _Your Majesty_ …”

Prompto does not chance the use of his name, not in such an instance. Noctis’ eyes shoot forward toward Ignis, who chats with a party of freshly arrived Hunters, many of whom already begin filling their plates with the man’s cooking.

 _‘I thought Noctis wanted to keep a low profile…’_ Prompto frowns.

“Though I’d still advise you let me mediate any sort of communication you may have with either of them for the time being…” Noctis mutters, scowling slightly as he studies the chatting Ignis a few feet away.

“No argument _there_ …” Prompto sinks lower against the bench. Even through the shifting of his clothes and the shifting seat, he can almost swear he hears Noctis fight a snort.

“I hope you understand that talks of your sentencing will be postponed until your services are no longer requested,” Noctis’ tone switches once again. Mention of it hurts, Prompto’s mental dialogue wallows, his hands subconsciously shooting up to play with the edges of his newly minted dog tags.

“ _Yes_ , Your Majesty…” now was not the time to argue – not when he was at least guaranteed the ability to join Noctis on his search. “I understand.”

Noctis hums, nodding silently. He rises, placing another hand on Prompto’s shoulder before calling Ignis’ name and heading toward the man. He calls the attention of the addressed and the various Hunters whom he engages in conversation, his voice dropping much too low for Prompto to eavesdrop.

 _‘What did he mean with it all?’_ Prompto agonizes internally, the dip of his shoulder still tingling under the linger of Noctis’ touch. The stifled speech, the touches, the softness Prompto cannot help but notice when their eyes meet…

The shared laughter of the cluster of dirty Hunters the two men converse with briefly jolt Prompto out of his reverie. The aloof Prince whom Prompto had remembered for most of his life is nowhere to be seen; there was no doubt _King_ Noctis had grown into a mantle of regality his princely aura simply lacked.

His features are fine, handsome, aged, yet youthful and true to the man who rebelled against the required pompousness of his charge. He addresses his subjects with ease, comfort, even _enjoyment_ ; perhaps a certain truth truly did lie in Luna’s claim that Noctis was merely strong armed into pushing forward such awful decrees – the man truly seems to love his people.

The Hunters clasp their filthy hands in Noctis’, shaking them one by one before joining their comrades in fixing themselves plates. The slouch in Prompto’s posture straighten once Noctis walks over toward him; it is only once Ignis disappears into the kitchens that he meets Prompto’s gaze with the subtlest smile.

“I do not mean to rush your breakfast, but if you would allow me to accompany you to your quarters so that I may inspect the weapons you wish to bring with you…”

“Yeah, of – of course…” Prompto nervously complies, grabbing his tray and bussing it accordingly.

* * *

 

It takes Prompto some time to finally look up at the man who matches his leisurely pace, walking in step beside him.

“I heard Gralean winters are pretty shit,”

The uttering of this phrase, the return of Noctis’ casualness – this is what finally garners Prompto’s attention. The two slowly meander toward the cabin Prompto had bunked in the night before. Noctis’ nostrils flare from the cold, bright and red on their edges. Breath escapes them in reserved puffs. The sun rises, orange and teasingly blazing, glints of its crowning reflecting off the settled snow around them.

“I dunno, I left when I was four…” Prompto attempts to grin at Noctis’ smirk, though he cannot help but feel slightly offended by the dark haired man’s dismissal of his claim, not when he accuses him of being Gralean despite knowing otherwise.

“Well, somehow they’re colder than this – can you believe it?”

“Lucis gets cold enough for me to really wanna think about it,” Prompto shivers, and Noctis hums.

“Hear, hear to that.”

The walk back to the cabin seems quicker than earlier that morning. The sun breaches the horizon, only the most stubborn of stars still visible behind its brilliant veil of emerging light. The two men kick the toes and heels of their boots before entering the building. Melted snow and ice pool into the dry wood floors, trailing their path as they head toward a pair of silver pistols upon a small table near the stove.

Noctis does not ask permission before taking one gently into his hands.

“Turn on a light, please,” he mumbles over his shoulder, and Prompto clumsily complies. Noctis twists the cold weapon in his hands, too fixated on its etching and specs to notice the nervously shivering man behind him – what would he say or think of the weapons? Would he confiscate them, fearing the possibility of Prompto’s betrayal? Would he insist on keeping the ammo or pistols on his person, handing them back over to Prompto only out of necessity?

“Where did you get these?” Noctis questions, and Prompto scratches behind his neck.

“Dave, actually – when I first showed up here without any weapons or anything, he gave them to me and taught me how to use them in exchange for my service for a few hunts,”

“How many is a _few_ , exactly?”

“Not sure,” Prompto mumbles, half confused by the question. “I guess a season’s worth.”

Noctis slides his fingers over the smooth metal before taking it into his hands and assuming a proper stance. He brings the gun to eye level, squinting.

“You have two of these, correct?”

“I do,” Prompto nods, brushing past the man to lift up a series of discarded scarves and handing him the pistol’s twin. The King repeats his previous procedure on the other one in turn, leaving Prompto to wait silently by his side, nervous.

“Honestly, these are quite nice,” Noctis smiles before lowering the weapon and placing it – much to Prompto’s surprise – in his hands.

“Yeah – I thought so too, and I couldn’t believe Dave just _gave_ them to me like that…” Prompto gapes, watching as Noctis (carefully) stretches before folding his arms.

“Well, what good are Hunters if their equipment is under par? Can’t kill Daemons with shitty gear,”

“Yeah, of – of course…” Prompto blushes, inwardly cursing himself for missing such an obvious fact. “…but still, he didn’t even ask for payment or anything,”

“An investment in a good Hunter keeping the people of Lucis safe is payment enough,” Noctis nods, closing the distance between them. Prompto gasps slightly as Noctis slowly reaches toward Prompto’s chest, gently taking the glimmering tags into his hands. “It’s official, then?”

“W—what…?” Prompto whispers, lifting his head to look Noctis in the eye.

“The tags...” Noctis mutters, and Prompto shivers at the soft richness in his tone. “Only _Hunters_ have tags like these, Prompto…”

Their closeness verbally disarms Prompto, who maintains their gaze, wide eyed. Noctis smiles in return, his eyes smoky with an unreadable gentleness. The King’s fingers graze along the edges of the tags, deliberate and teasing, and a wave of shock ripples through Prompto’s body; had Prompto lost his mind, or was Noctis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis, hardly a lover of Graleans, _flirting_ with him?

“It – he – Dave, yeah – Dave gave these to me earlier, right before breakfast…” Prompto swallows.

Noctis lets the jewelry slip carefully from his hands before placing them in his pockets and heading back to the table. Perhaps he had only imagined Noctis’ advances in a brief lapse of sanity.

“And did you accept his request?”

Prompto cannot help but hear a hint of brusqueness on the edge of his question, Noctis’ back turned toward him.

“…He knows that I’ve committed to joining you in finding Luna,” Prompto only half answers, watching Noctis’ back nervously.

“And afterwards? What are your plans, then?” Noctis inquires with the same tone, almost accusatory.

“It all depends on your sentencing of me, Your Majesty…”

Noctis turns at Prompto’s response, the blonde cross armed and solemn. He opens his mouth, as if to respond to Prompto’s usage of his title. He frowns instead.

“I suppose you’re right,” Noctis sagely nods, and an awkward silence passes between them. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’d like to inform Ignis and the others that I am well enough to depart. Should you have no further preparations or objections, I’d like to set for the Disc in the next hour – my injuries have already cost us very precious time,”

“No, of course not,” Prompto agrees.

“Great. I’ll tend to the others, then.”

Noctis leaves Prompto without another word.

* * *

 

 _‘You idiot…’_ Noctis curses himself under his breath, head bowed toward the snowy ground. _‘You absolute moron…’_

Ignis had been correct in his counsel earlier that morning; _“No one can help the way they feel, Noct, and I am not going to scold or shame you for whatever feelings you may have toward Prompto. I understand he is a very confusing piece to this maddening puzzle, especially having saved you the other night. But I must emphasize how unwise it is to let your emotions compromise your judgment – both out of personal concern, as well as King.”_

He expels a sigh as he reaches the cabin across the path. It was selfish of him to seek the affection of someone whom his leadership negatively impacted.

_“Remain objective at all times. Do not assume Prompto means good or ill. Watch him closely, but not so closely that you only cement yourself further in your infatuation. You have been informal enough with him as of late; do not forget to carry yourself before him as the King you are.”_

What kind of King was he _truly_? One that so feared the specter of his beloved father’s reign, that he would lose the Oracle, fear Parliament, alienate citizens of his own country, and compromise duty in the name of his budding emotions?

_‘I’m sorry, Dad…’_

Noctis throws his head back, narrowing his eyes as the now risen sun blinds him.

_‘I’m going to make things right. For you, for Luna and Nyx, for my people…’_

He closes his eyes, shoulders settling as he deeply exhales.

_‘…for Prompto…’_

He pushes the door open, instantly catching the attention of Gladio, Ignis, Dave, and Cor. He seats himself in a chair at the head of a round wooden table around which the other men gather, running a hand through his snow-damp hair.

“I just got through with the inspection of Prompto’s weapons,” he instantly begins. “He claims they were a gift from you, Dave,”

The balding man nods once.

“That’s correct,” Dave grunts, gathering the others’ attention. “Kid can dual wield like no other. He ain’t too bad with a crossbow, either,”

“They’re the same ones we took off him once we received him at the Citadel. Didn’t get a very good look at them though,” Gladio frowns.

“You don’t get many gunners in Lucis these days, especially when compared to those of the Empire,” Cor interjects, but Dave raises a hand.

“Trust me – I taught him everything he knows. You should’ve seen the kid with swords, he was pretty abysmal.”

“All of that aside, they’re in perfect condition for holding his own throughout the search,” Noctis attempts to anchor the conversation.

“Let _me_ be the judge of that,” Gladio tersely insists, Noctis uninterested in contesting the argument.

“…With that said, I have every intention of departing for the Disc of Cauthess within the hour. Prompto is aware of this, and is gathering his belongings as we speak –“

“Are you _certain_ , Noct? Your injuries are only four days healed –“

“Four days we’ve lost, four more days for Prompto’s tip to have grown colder –“ Noctis clenches his fists upon the table in heated insistence, Gladio holding up a hand to stop his friend.

“Iggy’s right, Noct. The _Hi Potion_ may be a miracle worker, but you’re still human. We’ve got a lot of fighting and travelling ahead of us, especially if we’re avoiding hotels for the sake of keeping this operation a secret –“

“You know you and your men are welcome here as long you need to be, my Hunters are sworn to secrecy about both your presence here and your mission –“ Dave adds, Cor nodding before leaning forward to speak. “As hard as it may be to hear, Highness, your health is paramount above all else,”

“I appreciate everyone’s concern, I do,” Noctis firmly addresses the others, eyes lingering on each of them individually for a second’s time. “But as it stands, I am well enough to chance my health for the sake of the Oracle and a member of the Kingsglaive. I promise you I am fine, and that I am not straining myself beyond what I can handle. I came to this decision last night and am not inclined to change it, unless the rest of you have extenuating issues of your own.”

Silence follows Noctis’ blunt call for objections. Ignis is the first to gesture in acceptance of the underhanded command.

“If that is your verdict, Your Highness, I have no objections,” he rises, adjusting his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. “I shall procure sundries and prepare the Regalia for departure,”

“I’ll go get Prompto together, then.” Gladio follows Ignis’ lead, Dave standing from his chair shortly after.

“You mind if I come with you, Gladio? I’d like to send the kid off, give ‘im a goodbye…”

“Fine by me.” Gladio waits for the man to button his various layers before slipping through the door, leaving only Cor and Noctis behind.

“…Cor…” Noctis starts, slowly hoisting himself up by placing his arms on the table.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Is there any way that you could return to the Citadel for me? I’m concerned my prolonged absence will have tipped Drautos’ suspicion,”

“Are you sure you believe Prompto’s claim? That Drautos could really have played a role in the abduction of the Oracle?”

“Prompto’s info has already proven to be credible enough, I’d rather not take the chance of ignoring the rest of his account…” Noctis places his hands on his hips, Cor slowly closing his eyes before nodding.

“Tell Drautos I went with Gladio and Ignis to meet you at the Niflheim border to hear your counsel. As for why I am delayed in my return, tell him I wished to inspect a base you mentioned myself,”

Cor nods.

“And when do you _intend_ to return, exactly?”

“ _Well_ …” Noctis sighs, gazing at his feet in thought. “If the tip works out and I find Nyx and Luna safe, I imagine I shouldn’t be more than a week. Otherwise…” he chokes, not wishing to contemplate on other possibilities. “I’ll contact you with any updates,”

“As I will you,” Cor stoically assures him, though he turns before exiting the building. “Are you certain you are in good enough health to make this run?”

“Positive,”

“Promise me that you will contact me should need my help or assistance in any way,”

“I will, Cor,” Noctis smiles, and he can feel the weariness he tries to conceal straining his cheeks. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

Noctis did not complain when Ignis insisted on taking the wheel; he was far from perturbed when Prompto slid into the back seat next to him, curling his legs close to his person to allow Noctis as much space as he wished to stretch and rest.

Not that Noctis was able to take advantage of a chance to better himself in Prompto’s eyes; the drive to the Cauthess rest area was almost completely silent. Gladio and Ignis shared the occasional mutter with one another before throwing a look over their shoulders to ask Noctis how he faired. Noctis only grunted in return, in and out of consciousness. After three hours, the rhythmic predictability of the windshield wipers ceased their hypnotic sweep upon the glass. The scent of Ignis’ piping cup of Ebony filled the car each time the man drove over a slight bump or curb. Snow covered hills pocked with firs bathe the horizon in a sea of dull evergreen.

“Hey. Noct.”

Noctis slowly lifts his head from his pillow, barely parting his eyelids to look at Gladio properly.

 _“Is he alright?”_ Gladio quietly mouths, darting his eyes toward Prompto.

Noctis yawns and wipes his eyes; Prompto, now that Gladio had mentioned it, hadn’t said a word since they’d departed nearly four hours ago. It quickly becomes apparent why exactly. He sleeps with his head against the window, his grey sweater balled against it as a makeshift pillow, a thick wool scarf draped around his legs like a blanket. He barely snores – missable enough, were it not for Noctis and Gladio focusing on his body language. His chest heaves gently under each breath, and Noctis cannot help but smile at him.

“Seems it, I guess…he’s asleep,” Noctis yawns, and Gladio’s gaze lingers on Prompto briefly before he turns around again.

“Say, Noct…” Ignis calls from the driver’s side, and Noctis clears his throat before responding with a sleepy, _“hm?”._

“I’d like to book a hotel for the night. The sun will be setting by time we reach the Disc proper, let alone before we get a chance to explore or inspect it,”

“Right…” Noctis yawns again, stretching.

“Daemons mixed with frigid temperatures aren’t exactly helpful in our situation,” Gladio chuckles.

“Nope,” Noctis hums. “As long as we are close enough to begin our search at daybreak tomorrow morning.”

“That was the plan Gladio and I had in mind,”

“Right, then.” Noctis frowns, looking out the window; icy sleet leaves the landscape submerged in grey, the swirling grooves of the Disc completely hidden behind the fog. Prompto hardly possesses the energy to stay awake enough for a car ride, and even Gladio and Ignis required the assistance of three espresso shots each in order to make the drive to the Disc’s edge. The exhaustion and stress of the last few weeks left Noctis himself with no choice but to nap himself – not that he would ever express his exhaustion to the others.

“Why don’t we find somewhere safe to pull over and rest for the night?” Noctis concedes, throwing a look at Prompto, who continues his peaceful sleep.

“We are far enough into Duscae that the Regalia shouldn’t be recognized if we were to park on the forest’s edge. There is a hotel less than a mile’s walk down the road from here, if you can chance the distance –“

“I’m _fine_ , Iggy…” Noctis waves his hand, cracking his back. “I’m not above walking at all.”

“It would be wise if we were to book the room under Prompto’s name – I’d prefer it if we gave the staff or cameras as little of a view of us as possible,”

“Excellent point,” Noctis drawls. “I guess I’ll wake him up, then…”

Noctis softly nudges Prompto awake, the blonde jumping at the sudden touch before registering where he is.

“Sorry, Prompto. We’ve arrived….”

“….At – at the Disc….?” Prompto curls up against the door, settling his heart rate.

“Not quite,” Ignis quips, and the car idles briefly before he takes the keys out of the ignition. “We will be posting in a hotel not far from the Disc until early morning tomorrow, when we will properly begin our search.”

“Oh…” Prompto swallows before nodding.

“We’ll need to book the hotel in your name to remain semi-anonymous,” Gladio informs him with little more context, for he steps out of the car without further explanation.

“Don’t worry, Iggy’ll give you the Gil you need to book it,” Noctis assures him, taking Prompto’s incredulous expression to mean the blonde hardly has the funds for such a feat.

“Uh…o—okay…” Prompto agrees, though the tension in his face does not obscure the underlying confusion he harbors toward the situation.

“Come on, guys – shouldn’t be too far away,” Gladio calls into the car, and Noctis and Prompto take the hint and rush to redress their coats and sweaters.

“Did you sleep okay?” Noctis asks Prompto, who cradles his upper body for warmth.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep, really. I just sorta _got in the car_ , and the next thing I knew, I was out,”

“The Regalia is a very comfortable ride,” Noctis agrees, the two matching one another in their pace, lagging slightly behind Ignis and Gladio. “I’m quite proud of her.”

 A muted, teal blue wooden building lies tucked away behind snow dunes and frozen marsh, a single, rusted neon sign displaying the lodging’s name flickering against the fog. Noctis is distracted by a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, followed by a shrill snap of what sounds like a camera’s shutter. His sudden jolt causes Gladio and Ignis to turn around wildly themselves, the three of them facing a sheepish Prompto, who slowly lowers the camera he holds to navel level.

“The _hell_ you think you’re doin’?!” Gladio roars, to which Prompto throws up a free hand, shaking it wildly.

“I – I just – the scene was pretty –!“ Prompto stutters from panic, his cheeks bright red, eyes wide with further apologies. “I – I’m sorry, I – I always take pictures–“

“What is it you’re _photographing_ exactly?!” Ignis sneers, and Prompto’s stammering only worsens.

“The – the building, the trees, it – it’s a nice backdrop –!”

“Do you have any idea how you’re making yourself look right now, snapping photos while our backs are turned –?!”

“Gladio, calm down…” Noctis rolls his eyes, though he frowns once he meets Prompto’s worried gaze. “Why are you taking pictures?”

“I’m – I’m a photographer –“ Prompto insists, holding the camera protectively against his chest.

“We know that, _smart ass_ –“

 _“Gladio!”_ Noctis hisses, stopping in his tracks and pinching the bridge of his nose, hip cocked.

“I’ve been taking pictures to show my parents everything I’ve seen since leaving Insomnia…” Prompto admits to the ground; his voice is quiet, as if he is ashamed or embarrassed of his excuse. “It keeps me distracted from everything that’s going on. It keeps me connected to them in a way…”

A suffocatingly awkward silence falls between them, and Noctis throws his head up toward the sky in a silent plea for Heaven’s patience.

“You’re collecting photos of Eos for your _parents_?” Ignis repeats, to which Prompto nods, eyes still fixed upon his sleek, muddy shoes.

“How do we know you’re not taking pictures of us and relaying them back to some Niff contact of yours?!” Gladio folds his arms, and Prompto shakes his head wildly.

“I – I wouldn’t, I – I _promise_ – I’m sorry, I –I’ll delete them –“

“ _Stop, stop_ …” Noctis snarls, cradling his head wearily in his hands. “Show me the picture,” he snaps, though Prompto does not dare to move. “ _Now_!” Noctis snaps, and even Gladio jumps. Ignis folds his arms after adjusting his glasses, and Prompto slowly steps forward, turning the camera’s display so the others can clearly see the picture.

Noctis sighs outwardly before taking the camera into his hands, frowning down at the image. The only word that can describe the scenery captured is _breathtaking_. The shining yellow of the motel’s neon sign reflects off the icy haze, its reflection pooling against the asphalt. The perspective is perfectly balanced. Gladio is captured on the photo’s right hand side, glaring sternly ahead. Even Ignis grunts a noise of semi approval at the picture’s composition, and Noctis swears a hint of a smirk of impression curls along the edges of his stern scowl. Noctis does not doubt that the nature of the photo is artistic and ultimately harmless.

“Take your pictures, Prompto….” He concedes, handing Prompto his camera back. “But any and all pictures you take are to be shown to the three of us at the end of every day. We have the right to tell you if any photos are detrimental to our mission, to which you are to delete them before us without exception or argument. Should we find anything of suspicion or ill intent in your pictures, you will be dealt with in turn, and immediately sent back to Insomnia under threat of trial or imprisonment. Am I clear?”

“ _Yes_ , Your Majesty…” Prompto whispers, barely audible.

At this, Noctis hands him the camera back before turning around without another word to the others, leading the way forward. Their weighted steps are the only sounds they hear, save for snow falling from the icy canopies surrounding them on either side. Not a single car passes by in either direction, the thinnest of tire tracks breaching the layer of snow that blankets the winding road ahead. If Prompto is struck any further by moments of inspiration, he ignores the urge capture them. Gladio turns every so often to glance in the blonde’s direction, though his gazes do not linger for very long.

“…Right…” Ignis finally breaks the silence once they reach the motel’s parking lot, obscured under snow and ice. “This should be enough for a night’s stay,” he produces a handful of mint bills from his pocket, placing them in Prompto’s hands. “Please book the room under your name, a double bed room if it can be arranged. If they ask for the other occupant, inform them that they are bringing in the luggage from the car and will be about momentarily. Once in the room, please open the veranda so that we may come in through the side. The fewer people who see us, the better,”

Prompto, clearly still sheepish from their earlier squabble, only nods.

“Do not inform them that the King or his party accompany you.”

Prompto nods again, chewing on his lip before heading inside. The three men watch in silence as they observe Prompto go through the motions of booking with the receptionist. Although their identities are concealed enough behind their scarves and cloaks, Noctis does not begrudge Ignis the meticulous care with which he handles the situation.

Prompto smiles at the attendant before taking a set of keys into his hands, locking eyes briefly with Noctis before turning down a hall that assuredly leads to the bedrooms.

“Alright, I think it’s all settled…” Noctis mutters, Gladio lifting two small bags out of the snow before they sneak around the corner. It only takes Prompto a few brief minutes before he slowly parts the doors, though he does not maintain eye contact with anyone.

Noctis closes the door behind him before surveying the suite, hands on his hips. The walls are dusty, time-worn, dark blue wallpaper peeling in some places to reveal a sandy brown wall underneath. The floors are a mixture of wooden panels and equally aged carpet. A set of squat black armchairs surround an equally dark table, by which an ancient television set rests upon a shelf. Outdated lamps rest atop a mantle.

Off to one side is a small, cramped kitchen, the other the bedroom; two king sized beds are pristinely made, strangely clean compared to the rest of the lodging. The suite, while somewhat dingy, is ultimately inviting and warm.

“Whatcha cookin’ up tonight then, Iggy?” Gladio asks as he follows Ignis into the kitchen, carrying what Noctis assumes is a bag of groceries.

“Not sure yet. All depends on what hasn’t spoiled…” Ignis’ voice trails as he disappears into the kitchen, various bangs and slams coming from where he searches the cupboards for supplies. Noctis taps a finger against the television screen, pulling his hand back as a small prick of static shocks him, echoing a crack throughout the room. He scowls as he shakes his hand, turning a clunky metal knob with the other; the television, naturally, doesn’t respond.

“Guess they don’t see too many Kings as guests…” he jokes under his breath, standing up straight. A dart board rests above a long couch. The sofa is a hideous eyesore, bright yellow and red, upholstered with a garish retro damask.

“Yeesh…” Noctis cringes, leaving the living room to inspect the bathroom. It is in surprisingly decent shape, the ceramic of the tub and sink clean, albeit spotted with visible wear.

“I know it’s not one of our usual pent houses…” Gladio starts behind him, leaning against the door frame. “…But I’ll gladly sacrifice comfort for a successful run through of the Disc…”

“Yeah…” Noctis sighs, picking up a bottle of bargain bin soap and lotion stocked by the hotel. “Guess I don’t really have much of a choice.”

Gladio snorts. “You’ll be able to do without Lucis’ finest toiletries for the night,”

“Pfft, any bed that’s not at a Hunter’s Outpost is good enough for me right now,” Noctis adds, and Gladio exhales.

“ _Yeaah_ …kitchen’s not too bad either – Iggy’s gettin’ started on some lentil soup,”

Noctis grimaces, Gladio rolling his eyes.

“Hey, don’t get used to it – even vegetables’ll be too nice – it’ll be tents and toast while we’re searching the Disc…”

“Can’t _wait_ …” Noctis sneers, turning the stubborn sink tap. Warm water jets out forcefully before regulating its flow, rising steam flushing his cheeks. “…Where’s Prompto?” Noctis wonders aloud after a few moments, Gladio looking over his shoulder and frowning.

“Think he’s in the bedroom,” Gladio says with disinterest.

“Surprised you’re not watching him like a hawk…” Noctis jabs, and Gladio leans a forearm against the door frame, crossing his legs.

“I’m just looking out for you, _Your Majesty_ …”

“And I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side to do so, but don’t _cripple_ the kid – ease up a bit…” Noctis gently, though inarguably scolds. “I don’t need him clamming up – not now…”

“I’m doing my _job_ , Noct,” Gladio frustratedly insists, to which Noctis sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you are, but try to go a bit easier on him. If he was gonna hurt any of us, he _would_ have by now. He _saved_ me, don’t forget that. You heard what Dave said, and so far, he’s told the truth on every account…”

“I don’t think he’s out to _hurt_ us –“

“Then what _do_ you think?” Noctis narrows his eyes, resting on the edge of the tub. Gladio chews his lip, as if considering his answer before immediately responding.

“…I think he’s invested in Luna and Nyx – nothing else.”

“What do you mean?” Noctis wonders.

“I think he’s willing to work with whoever can see to her safe rescue– whether that be us, the Niffs, the Astrals – whoever comes first and whoever is willing and able to do it. Don’t think the kid really cares. For that, yeah, I’ll give it to him – he’s committed and useful…”

“Mmm…” Noctis hums, mulling over Gladio’s words.

“But do I think that makes him a one hundred percent good guy that we need to be pallin’ around with? No. It’s a temporary alliance with a wanted criminal who just so happens to be someone we need to work with for the time being; nothing else.”

Noctis closes his eyes, a heavy breath flaring through his nostrils; he cannot deny Gladio’s assumption is most likely true – but the thought disappoints him, for he wishes to see the best in Prompto, for him to mean so much more to him…

“I’m just saying, he’s got nothing to lose –“

“And whose fault is that?!” Noctis growls, elbows resting on his knees. “If I’d been a better king, a better ruler, someone who didn’t fear a loss of power and popularity to uphold my father’s justice before Parliament –“

“I’m not here to argue those details with you, Noct, I don’t think I need to. You do it to yourself enough, I hear you sometimes…” Gladio cuts him off, Noctis’ aiming his gaze to the floor. "And all we can do is right the wrongs we’ve committed, and pursue peace and what’s right. But I am going to tell you to be careful and keep your distance –“

“I _am_ being careful, and you don’t have to, Iggy’s told me the same,” Noctis whines. “But I’m not going to keep alienating him, either. If he gives me a reason to play the role I have to, then so be it. Otherwise, his help is invaluable to us at the moment. I’m not going to keep arguing with you about this.”

Gladio finally shows himself for a loss of words, scratching behind his neck.

“I’m not gonna say that your call on his pictures wasn’t the right one, it was. But I am going to ask you to calm down, and give him a chance to prove himself as a bad person before you label him as one…”

The two are silent for a moment’s time, the idle sounds of Ingis’ whistling trailing throughout the suite.

“…Alright.” Gladio nods, looking over his shoulder into the empty living room. “But only until we find them, okay?”

“Okay,” Noctis smiles. “By the way, I saw your reaction to his picture of you,” Noctis adds, Gladio reddening and waving a hand dismissively.

“He’s not a half bad photographer,” Gladio casually scoffs, though he instantly fixes his expression into a stern one. “No one’s denying that. ‘S how he got to your party in the first place. Let’s hope he can use a gun as well Dave says he can – don’t really think we need a photojournalist in our entourage.” With this, Gladio closes the bathroom door, Noctis enjoying what he would argue is the most relaxing shower he’s ever experienced once Gladio closes the door.

* * *

 

“I dunno if it’s because it’s been so long since breakfast, but I’m not too disappointed by this soup…” Noctis compliments before taking another spoonful into his mouth.

“Glad my dishes can meet the _occasional_ expectations of the King…” he sarcastically retorts, Gladio laughing into his own spoonful.

“Pretty sure Noct didn’t mean it that way,”

“Yeah, I mean – don’t get me wrong, the cooks at the Citadel are wonderful, but sometimes it’s nice to have food made by you, Iggy. It reminds me a lot of being a kid,” Noctis wistfully explains.

“He was always the only cook who’d let me have a cheat day diet wise,” Gladio laughs, and Ignis smiles at his friends.

“Perhaps that’s why my help in the kitchens grew more seldom when we were teenagers.”

Both Gladio and Noctis offer Ignis a “thank you,” as the lean man rises, taking their empty dishes into into his hands.

“Not a problem, although, can I steal you for a moment, Noct?”

“Of course…?” Noctis raises an eyebrow. Gladio looks up at them both, Noctis giving the man a silent, wide eyed shrug before joining Ignis in the tiny kitchen.

“It’s Prompto…”

“Oh, _Ramuh’s Staff_ …” Noctis sighs; the drama truly beginning to grate.

“I understand Gladio and I came off rather rough earlier this afternoon –“

“And yesterday, and the day _before_ –“

“ – But there’s only so much self-punishment he can endure before his starvation act affects him adversely. He really should come out of the bedroom to eat,”

“What, he didn’t come out while I was in the shower?” Noctis folds his arms, and Ignis shakes his head no. Noctis had merely assumed Prompto ate his portion away from the others, or he had missed Prompto while bathing.

“I suppose you and Gladio had a chat of your own, because he knocked on the door and invited Prompto out to dinner, as did I, but he claims he wasn’t hungry and hasn’t left the bedroom.”

“…I’ll go chat with him, I guess…” Noctis sighs, arms swaying moodily at his side before he heads toward the kitchen.

“That would be best,” Ignis agrees, though Noctis gives him a knowing look, eyebrows raised.

“If you guys would just relax around him, I wouldn’t be the only one able to get him to _eat._ ”

To this, Ignis has no rebuttal, though Noctis does not stick around to see if this changes; he knocks twice on the bedroom door, a croaky _“Y –Yes?!”_ calling from the other side.

“It’s me…” Noctis says softly, and just when he expects Prompto to either send him away, or not answer his call, the blonde responds for him to come in.

Noctis parts the door slowly, surprised to see that Prompto is in a surprisingly relaxed state; he sprawls across the neatly made bed, papers and pens splayed across the blanket. His camera rests at his side.

“I – I was just – I’m just finishing up a letter I was writing, you know – to my _parents_ …” Prompto hastily explains, reading Noctis’ taken aback expression for a demanding of explanation.

“Iggy said you wouldn’t come out for dinner, not even when he or Gladio called for you…”

“Yeah…kinda figured it would be best to keep my distance from them for a while…” Prompto tries to smile, but it is impossible to shield away his discomfort entirely.

“…Well, even _those_ two say you can’t starve yourself forever, and they’re right,” Noctis slowly closes the door behind him.

“Guess they really _do_ care, huh?” Prompto chuckles weakly, trying to deflect his obvious hurt with light hearted sarcasm.

“I had a chat with Gladio,” Noctis joins Prompto on the edge of the bed, who begins rearranging lose bits of scrap paper. “He really did like that photo you took of him,”

“I shouldn’t have taken it,” Prompto instantly apologizes, shaking his head.

“The photography is fine,” Noctis assures him, and Prompto frowns before turning away back to his stationery. “We just have to be careful –“

“I _know_ that,” Prompto hisses, tensing under a moment of frustration. “I know that you can’t trust me, you have to be careful. All of it. I get it.”

“Prompto –“

“Do you hate me or not?!”

The question is shrill, somewhat desperate. Prompto dares only a single inhale before continuing. “One second, it seems like it’ll all be okay, the next, you’re –“ he stops to collect his thoughts, Noctis furrowing his brow. “I understand that this is all just a mission to you, that the only reason why I’m not in a cell back in Insomnia is because of what I can do to help. But I just don’t get it, I guess. Sometimes you – you’re…” Prompto shakes his head, preparing himself for his next statement with a slow sigh. “What is my place with you all? What do you want me to be to you?”

Noctis’ eyes widen, for the second question was hardly expected. As if he could tell him what he wanted, what he wanted Prompto to _be_ to him– a time machine, a chance to start over, a candle light dinner and an opportunity to get to know him better –

“Sometimes you seem like you really do trust and believe me…” Prompto’s voice shakes, and all Noctis can do is listen. “…And other times you seem like you just wished you’d locked me away when you had the chance.”

Prompto places his camera against the bed, fingers playing idly with the comforter when he does so.

“I know it seems _stupid,_ wanting that acceptance. Most people will never even see you in person,”

“It’s not _stupid_ –“

“I just can’t tell if you really _do_ trust me,” Prompto begs, to which Noctis slowly nods.

“I do.” Noctis’ tone is weighted, though clearly not so heavy as the thoughts that tumble from the turmoil of Prompto’s mind and out of his mouth.

“One minute, I’m supposed to call you Noctis, and you’re _close_ to me, the next, Your Majesty. I just – I just need to know, and I’m sorry if I’m being demanding –“

“You’re not –“ Noctis barely chokes out the response before Prompto continues, though not without what appears to be apprehension before his final statement.

“…I just want to show you guys that I’m Lucian _too_.”

Noctis sighs, and the two are quiet for some time. He looks down at Prompto’s papers, Noctis seeing the various papers are horribly scribbled drafts.

“I’ve always had this feeling of never being _good enough_ , even as a kid,” Prompto admits. “I already told you how you changed that for me, at least for a little while…”

“I still find it pretty hard to believe, especially as someone who has those feelings a lot more than I care to admit, even to myself. There are plenty of times if I wonder if my father is watching me with nothing but shame in his heart. Guess we have that in common,” Noctis rolls his eyes, and Prompto smiles sadly.

“But for now, you have to eat, Prompto.” Noctis claps a hand on his shoulder.

“I guess you’ll wanna take a look at what I wrote before I do?” he slowly hands Noctis what appears to be a finished draft, and the king frowns before nodding; it is the smart thing to do, after all. He gently takes the paper in hand, his lips pursing from slight embarrassment. Even if Prompto really were his greatest enemy, it would be hard to dispel the guilt of reading his private correspondence to his own _parents_.

 

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Sorry I haven’t written lately. There’s so much to tell you, and even more that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t talk about where I am, or what I’m doing, but I can tell you that I’m fairly well and thinking about you both every day. I love you a lot, and hope that I can see you guys sooner rather than later. Like I said, I can’t spare many details, but I do want you guys to know that, if things go right, you’ll see me on the news for reasons you wouldn’t believe. Even I won’t believe them. But I hope it changes everything, for the better, for us all._

_I have some more photos, but I think it would be a good idea to wait until everything calms down to show you them._

_Sorry my letter is so short._

_Love,_

_Your Son_

“…You’re good at leaving out the important details,” Noctis attempts to joke, though when he looks up from the letter, he sees Prompto pays him no attention – he swipes through his camera instead. “Thank you for doing so.”

Prompto still doesn’t respond, and Noctis decides not to push it further. He is grateful that Prompto rises from the bed to join him in the living room, where Gladio and Ignis challenge each other to a game of darts.

“Prompto,” Ignis nods, greeting him, after which he lands a near perfect bulls eye upon the board. Gladio laughs heartily at Ignis’ attempt, the bespectacled man giving him a slight push before fetching Prompto’s soup bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m afraid I have no way to heat it up,”

“No, it’s – it’s fine, thanks for making it,” Prompto takes the bowl in his hands, and instantly his hunger betrays him. Even lukewarm, the soup is perfectly spiced; chilies and green onions add a spicy crunch to the savory lentils, lightly salted potatoes garnished with celery decadently soaking the taste.

“Sure can pack it all away, considering how thin you are,” Gladio smirks, but Prompto does not answer; Noctis watches him wide eyed, for Prompto ravenously shovels at least eight spoonfuls of soup into his mouth in the span of a few seconds.

“At least we know no food will go to waste,” Ignis adds out of surprise.

The three watch him quietly until Prompto empties the bowl, placing it upon the table. He leans back in his chair, patting his stomach, the loudest, longest belch Noctis has ever heard escaping Prompto’s yawning mouth. He claps his hands over his mouth, flaring a bright red.

Noctis is the first to laugh, doubled over and clutching his stomach, not that it does anything the hide the volume of his laughter. Gladio is next, who snorts into own fist before wheezing. Ignis looks between the three of them, shoulders heaving with the chuckles he attempts to suppress.

“Where the _hell_ did that come from?!” Gladio manages to utter in between laughs, and Prompto shakes his head sheepishly.

“I dunno,” he whispers, curling his legs against his chest.

“That ought to be a lesson not to skip a meal,” Ignis scolds with a raised eyebrow, though the prolonged eye contact with Prompto is severed by his need to turn away before inhaling another laugh.

“I sure as hell ain’t sharin’ the bed with your ass,” Gladio waves a hand in front of him.

“I’ll get the washing up done then,” Noctis looks at them all, taking Prompto’s bowl. They finally calm themselves, a gentle silence enveloping the room.

Until Prompto lets out another soft burp.

Gladio holds onto the back of his chair for support. Ignis facepalms, stifling his laugh again.

“You know, people are gonna suspect there are more than two people in here if you guys keep that up,” Noctis laughs, throwing a look at Prompto, who smiles and nods, picking up one of Gladio’s discarded novels and flipping to the first page.

“Don’t get your gut gas all over it,” Gladio warns Prompto, who salutes him before sinking deeper into the chair.

It’s not perfect, Noctis sighs, flinching slightly as Gladio cheers at Ignis’ second near flawless bullseye. None of them were; but it was a start.

* * *

 

Although he hardly sleeps, Noctis never noticed Prompto and Gladio having left in the early morning.

“The two left as I got up to prepare breakfast,” Ignis informs a still sleepy eyed Noctis, who plops half asleep into a chair before a plate of eggs and sausage. “Gladio took him out to see his marksmanship skills. They ought to be back soon,” he continues, sitting down beside Noctis with a plate of his own.

“Why’s that?” Noctis yawns, stretching.

“Shortly after you went to bed, Gladio and I decided to settle our darts score before turning in ourselves. Prompto decided to show us both how it was done, apparently,”

“What do you mean?” Noctis frowns. Hadn’t the two made a bit of progress the night before?

“He threw an immediate bullseye. While impressive, Gladio then said he wanted Prompto to show him what his marksmanship skills were on the field, until he stopped whooping that is; surprised he didn’t wake you,”

“Oh…” Noctis chuckles, thankful the early morning training was light hearted in nature.

“Hopefully they’re not too much longer, we need to get the Disc as soon as the sun is properly risen.”

Noctis did not speak too soon, for two loud knocks sound on the veranda doors. Setting down his coffee, Ignis throws Noctis a warning hand before walking toward them, placing an ear upon the door.

“It’s me and Prompto. Open the door. _Now_!”

Ignis complies, Noctis walking toward the door himself at the sound of Gladio’s worry. The two waste no time in barging in, out of breath and glistening with early morning chill. Prompto clutches his chest, Gladio flushed and breathing heavily through his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Noctis glares, Ignis shutting the door behind them.

“Prompto saw what he thought was a wolf trailing us on our way back. Turns out it wasn’t just any old mutt,”

“What do you mean?” Ignis questions, though Gladio’s gaze with Noctis does not break.

“It was Umbra, Noct,”

“ _What_ –?!” Noctis tries to keep his voice down, though fails miserably.

“Luna’s got a message for us, and it’s not a good one,” Prompto finally comes to, eyes welling with tears. “Her and Nyx are on their way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Finally some plot development!
> 
> What is Luna and Nyx's message? Find out in another unspecified amount of time when I can write some more!


	11. Reunion

The silence that sets in between them is stifling. Prompto nearly swears he can hear the racing thoughts of disbelief in the other two men. Blood pounds heavy in Noctis’ ears, and his jaw clicks under the pressure of his grinding teeth. Prompto rapidly flicks his flaming, frostbitten fingers together. Gladio continues to breathe heavily through his mouth, and Ignis covers his own, turning on his heel to process the incredulousness of Prompto’s message.

“…So you’re saying they’re _alive_?” Ignis pipes, and Prompto shivers; it’s the first time he’s ever heard a trace of worry, nervousness, _uncertainty_ in the advisor’s voice.

“That’s what Umbra wrote in the book,” Prompto sharply inhales after his statement, lightheaded from adrenaline.

“So then you _know_ Umbra –“ Noctis barks, and Prompto nods, chewing his lip. There was hardly any point in trying to _forget_ Daemon hunting missions with the Oracle and her hyper intelligent messenger dog.

“Of – of course, he was around with Luna and Nyx every now and again,”

“And you’re _certain_ it was him?!” Noctis pleads in the same tone, as if begging Prompto to dispel all doubt with his confirmation.

“There was no mistaking him, Noct,” Gladio answers this time around. “He had the notebook. Said to meet Luna and Nyx at Pullmoor Haven near the Alstor Slough, that she has news for us there,”

“Are you _sure_ this isn’t a trap?!” Ignis surveys Prompto and Gladio sternly over his glasses, and both of the addressed shake their heads. “Normally I’d warn against just charging toward the Slough with a still recovering King on our watch, without more conclusive evidence,” Ignis resigns, pausing mid thought to look the three men over. “But waiting here solves nothing. Perhaps the two of them can shed some insight on the nature of their disappearance, and what it means going forward,”

“What kind of news do you guys think it could be?” Prompto chimes, extremely pale, down to his shaking hands.

_Dearest King, Shield, Hand – whomever this message shall find its’ way to first; I’ve much to explain with neither the time nor leisure to do so openly. N., U. and I have only just escaped. Peril swiftly approaches Lucis. There is much to discuss, and not a moment more without our meeting can be spared. Meet us both at the Pullmoor Haven, deep in the marshes of the Alstor Slough by nightfall. I pray this message reaches either of you, and that is it not too late._

_L._

Prompto mentally scans the words he had instantly memorized as he read them in that worn, leather notebook. His inner monologue lingers on every syllable, on the specifics of each word, the rationale behind their choice.

What sort of peril awaited them, exactly?

“Only way to know the answers to your questions for certain is to head there as soon as possible,” Gladio is the first to find resolve, at least in his tone. “What’re we doin’ boys?” Gladio folds his arms, and Noctis instantly grabs a woolen overcoat left draped over the back of an armchair.

“We leave for the Haven immediately. We go armed and cautious. All three of you, be ready for anything that may compromise your safety– an ambush, a trap, MTs – _never_ let your guards down.” Noctis resolutely growls, and a pit of warmth wells in the depths of Prompto’s stomach; Prompto’s safety, after all is included in those orders – neither Gladio nor Ignis dispute them.

 

* * *

 

“What about the car?” The question instantly diffuses into a cloud of breath as it escapes Prompto’s panting body. The other three jog hastily ahead of him, slowing only once they reach the well-hidden Regalia, parked beneath a cluster of large, frozen trees.

“We leave it.” Ignis promptly responds, Noctis tapping the frost-covered windshield.

“No signs of sabotage or tampering?” Gladio calls his comrades, who silently inspect the car before answering outright.

“Not from what I can immediately see…”

Prompto bends his knees, peeking underneath the car’s underside. His brief stint at Hammerhead Garage left him generally knowledgeable in regards to various motor vehicles. Cindy herself bragged about servicing the Regalia alongside her grandfather every now and again, and signs of her technical skill clearly show.

Carefully cleaned, immaculately maintained, no signs of wear – the trace of the Aurum family gift shines through, from chrome to bumper.

Prompto smiles at the memory of the woman; he hopes she’s doing well.

“No time to worry about it now,” Gladio grunts, the sound of the trunk slamming stealing Prompto away from thoughts of Cindy.

“What’s all _that_?!” Prompto blurts, eyes wide. He stands up straight, instantly greeted by the towering view of various bulky objects, haphazardly balanced in Gladio’s arms, obscuring him in shades of olive and brown.

“Part of your load,” Gladio grunts, shoving a handful of pots and various camping equipment into Prompto’s arms. The sheer weight of cast iron and other heavy materials cause his knees to temporarily buckle. The other three take comparable amounts of gear into their arms, Ignis nicking his head in the direction of the Haven.

He swings his long legs over the metal partition with ease, his dress shoes cracking the surface of light ice that cakes the tall grass beyond.

“What do you mean?” Prompto repeats his questioning, though not before barely executing an awkward hop-skip over the road’s barrier.

“I know your travels have taken you about the world, Prompto, but I doubt you’ve seen many hotels in Daemon-infested wilderness,” Ignis calls back to him, Prompto frowning behind his multiple, itchy scarves.

“It’s a _tent_ ,” Gladio smirks, catching up to Prompto’s side. “Not exactly a good idea for the King and the Oracle to show their faces in public during such a covert operation.”

Prompto shifts the weight about in his hands, turning to the other side to catch a glance of Noctis. He does not register the greater conversation around him, judging by his stiff expression, matched only by the somewhat frozen hair that he’d neglected to dry after hearing news of Luna.

“I mean…” Prompto falls silent. He was no stranger to the outdoors, as of late. He had seen and slept in some questionable places, and endured even seedier conditions. If he had found somewhere that could be technically considered _lodging_ in the first place. He did not mean to appear ungrateful, or terse – merely intrigued that the Regalia, the most luxurious vehicle of the royal family, had been so densely packed with enough camping supplies to overwhelm even the most paranoid of hermits.

His parents had always considered him a morbidly curious young man, for better or worse.

The marshes are silent and frozen. Reeds and leaves are left weather-bleached, a lifeless, coniferous green. The familiar croaks of frogs and crickets that usually plague the area are replaced by the settling wetness of snow, trees snapping under the weight of their icy encasements. The lake beyond is completely solid, an opaque, useless mirror of silver, blue and white. If the others struggle with their supplies, they do not express it.

They express nothing at all, in fact.

It’s a completely silent walk. Although the Pullmoor Haven draws nearer, the raised obelisk of rock and stone refuses to approach in their views, no matter the distance they track.

The three men turn to look at Prompto when a particularly large branch snaps nearby – though they blanche when they see Prompto too, turns around.

“We bein’ followed?” Gladio grunts.

His question goes unanswered; stalks of long grass bristles behind them. A large heap of snow tumbles violently off a canopy above.

“GET _DOWN_ , HIGHNESS!” Ignis roars, not a second too late. Noctis obeys Ignis’ command, producing an impressive, ornate sword from what Prompto cannot rationalize to be anything other than _thin air_. A near blinding flash of light engulfs the king, white-blue specks of crystal shimmering more brilliantly than the untouched snow around them.

Even broad-shouldered Gladio hastes to answer Ignis’ call; a massive blade materializes in one hand, the other, a hulking shield Gladio instantly positions to protect Noctis from harm’s way. Ignis crouches, a set of daggers gripped at the ready in his hands.

Were adrenaline not coursing through Prompto’s veins, he would be too stunned by the dexterous display to act himself. He draws his two pistols from his holsters, turning his back to the other three men and raising them in wait of their pursuer.

The unexpected guest gives the bushes yet another rustle before finally emerging. An infant Garula trundles out of the foliage, its wooly coat matted with half-frozen ice. It sniffs at the ground before looking at the men in alarm, snorting anxiously before tearing back into safety of the overgrown marshes, squealing for its mother.

It takes a few moments for the other three to drop their guard, tossing their weapons into the state of seeming nothingness from which they were summoned.

Prompto’s shaking, outstretched arms continue to hold the pistols, though he lowers them back into their holsters. He clutches at the stitch in his chest, panting hot breath into the dewy air.

“That…” Prompto starts, turning around to the others. “That was _amazing_!” he can’t help but gasp. He can only imagine how ridiculous he must look, barely visible underneath unending layers of brown and gray, incredulously wide-eyed.

“What?” Gladio asks, Noctis grunting as his friend heavy-handedly wipes snow off his back.

“How your weapons just – just _appeared_!” Prompto waves his arms before walking closer to the other three. “How did you _do_ that?!”

“Such powers are a mark of the Caelum lineage,” Ignis explains, his tone low as he gives another look around them before relaxing completely, standing upright. “It is an ability that has been passed down through blood since the early ages of the dynasty – from King to Prince, Queen to Princess.”

“I – I mean _sure_ –“ Prompto groans as he grabs his discarded box of supplies, adjusting them in his hands. “But that doesn’t explain how you did it! And how you guys can do it!”

He is red faced, barely able to stop himself from beaming. Gladio lets out a snort, followed by a devious smile of his own.

“Telling you _those_ details would just be giving away company secrets.”

“Rather that the _time_ it would take to explain them to you would be way too precious to waste,” Ignis adds, briefly balancing his box on his knees. “You okay to continue, Highness?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Noctis pants, still uninterested in joining in any needless conversation. Gladio nods silently to Ignis, who takes the gesture as an affirmation for continuing toward the Haven.

“Did you not see such powers when Hunting with Luna and Nyx?” Ignis continues, casting a glance backward at Prompto.

“No, never…” Prompto frowns, attempting to recall any small details as mind blowing as being able to summon blades and firearms on demand. “But to be fair, you don’t really notice a _nything_ when you’re up against Daemons,”

“Such precision is required when His Majesty’s life is on the line,” Ignis frowns.

“You weren’t too slow on the draw yourself,” Gladio raises an eyebrow, to which Prompto humbly chuckles.

“ _Again,_ can’t be too slow if it’s Daemons you’re hunting.”

Noctis continues to lead the way, the man’s silence now beginning to make Prompto uneasy; he hadn’t spoken a word since their departure from the motel earlier that morning.

“Say, uh…” Prompto starts, hopping a little in his step to catch up to the brooding man. “Is everything ok? You – you haven’t really said much…” Prompto drops the volume in his voice, as if he means to apologize for any perceived attempts at prying into his business.

“Let’s just say I _don’t_ really have the nerves to not hurl my guts out of my body until I see Luna and Nyx…” Noctis strainedly answers before he gulps, and Prompto nods once.

“Yeah, I’m pretty nervous about it too,” he flashes Noctis a sad but reassuring smile, one that Noctis returns as much as his queasiness will allow him. “But – but as long as you’re _okay_ ,”

“I’m alright, Prompto,” Noctis nods, giving him a short, shaky smile.

“Just as long as it’s not a trap…” Gladio adds, Noctis shooting the man a menacing glare.

“It _won’t_ be,” Noctis snaps with such ferocity that Gladio and Ignis share a quiet glance of surprise with one another; Prompto’s cheeks burn hot.

His heart rate mercilessly increases as they finally manage to reach the top of the Haven. Prompto scales the frozen path with ease, releasing a sigh of relief and cracking his back the immediate second he can place his box on the ground.

“No, no – I’ve _got_ it –“

He turns to see Noctis waving away Ignis’ arm, who stretches his hand to assist him up the path. Despite his protests, it is clear by his slight limp as he scales the rock his injury still troubles him. Gladio joins him in setting his own load down, taking a look at the other two himself before prodding Prompto in the back.

“Job’s not done just yet; help me get that tent up.”

Prompto whips around, a pile of green tarps and metal rods placed chaotically against the ground. He frowns, though follows Gladio without protest; he could hardly see any sort of symmetrical sense being made out of the tossed materials.

All four men do their part to assemble the camp in silence. Prompto is careful not to let his eyes linger too long on any of them individually – not that the solving of the massive, olive green tent isn’t enough of a puzzle to take up most of his attention. Noctis unfolds five chairs in a semi-circle around an extinguished fire pit left behind by the Haven’s previous guests. Ignis scales the Haven’s edge for useable fire wood.

Gladio carries at least three handfuls of down blankets and sleeping bags into the now perfectly erected tent, and Prompto steps toward the Haven’s edge; the view stretches endlessly, his vision blurring from the frozen wind. His teeth rattle, and he attempts to steel his jaw as he scans the horizon for Luna’s arrival.

“See anything?” Gladio sticks his head out of the tent. Prompto vigorously rubs his shoulders, exhaling a frigid breath before shaking his head no. Gladio grunts in response, leaving the tent proper as he strides toward Ignis, taking wood and a bag of groceries from his hands.

Prompto, overcome by curiosity, moves the billowing tent flap aside, peeking in; the interior is much more spacious than its exterior would leave one to assume. Six sleeping bags rest atop a down blanket separating the makeshift beds from the stone ground (“Two extra for Nyx and Luna…” Prompto gulps. He prays they do not go to waste). Atop the bags are six small pillows, covered by three more down throws. Lanterns dangle like gaudy jewelry from the tent’s peaked ceilings. Although it is not entirely perfect, the insulation of the heavy duty tarp adequately warms the tent. Should the flaps remain closed whilst sleeping, Prompto suspects it should be sufficiently warm through the night.

“Huh…” Prompto mumbles, bending down to stroke the fabric of the blankets. The drab olive material is utilitarian and hardly aesthetically pleasing, somewhat course to the touch. “Better than freezing to death,” Prompto jokes to himself, surprised that he cannot feel the stone beneath when he places his entire palm flat against the layers. He had, after all, slept in much worse in the past.

“ _Prompto_!” Gladio calls from outside, and Prompto peeks through the tent flap with a slight jolt. “Come help me and Iggy unpack these dishes.”

Prompto wastes no time in heeding Gladio’s request. Noctis busies himself with igniting the modest collection of firewood placed upon the pit.

“So, uh…” Prompto starts, rubbing his hands together expectantly, smacking his lips. He bends down before a cardboard box, unpacking a stack of lightweight plates and cutlery, placing them upon a fold out table to their left. “What’s for lunch?” Prompto winces at the sound of his voice, praying the others find him neither too casual nor too visibly on edge.

“I’ve got enough provisions for rice with fried eggs and some curried lentils,” Ignis strains under the weight of a large, cast iron bowl he awkwardly carries toward the fire. “There should be enough for seconds for all of us, Nyx and Luna included.”

“Mmm…” Prompto nods in agreement, grunting as he helps Gladio carry a spit. “Sounds good to me! Can’t wait ‘til they get here!” Prompto’s smile fades as he chances another glance at Noctis, who now sits hunched over in one of the canvas chairs, head in his hands.

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright, Noct?”

“Positive,” Noctis muffled grunt is nearly swallowed whole by the stupor that cradles his face.

“Look, Noct, we’re all worried about Nyx and Luna, but there’s nothing we can do for now but wait –“ Gladio’s voice and expression are empathetic and caring, and Prompto cannot help but look up from the spit he assembles to observe him. Gentle understanding commands Gladio’s features, brow free of wrinkles. The hands he places on his hips are not a gesture of irritation or impatience; had Prompto known Gladio better, he would almost dare to wager that he _worries_ in the face of Noctis’ self-inflicted stress.

“Tch – _yeah_ …” Noctis sneers, his smile completely mismatched with the hiss of a voice he barely keeps even, as if he balances the weight of his restraint upon the tip of his tongue. Prompto rolls his lips under his teeth. “And yet here we are, after a week of me doing everything I can to find her safe and sound, with _none_ of it being good enough for you two, and now I’m expected to sit and _wait_ the second we finally get a lead–“

“You know that wasn’t at all _how_ Gladio meant it,” Ignis starts, mimicking Gladio’s bated posture.

“I don’t have _time_ to sit here and wait,” Noctis rises from his chair, hands gripping the canvas adorned arm rests with such ferocity, the ice cracks under the pressure of its legs. Prompto, who could only pretend to feign interest in the assembly process for so long, looks up at Noctis with his own concern. “I can’t just _sit_ here – what if this is a trap, or – or _bait_?!” Noctis frantically spits, gesturing frustratedly toward Gladio and Ignis. If Prompto were ever grateful for the chance to go unnoticed by the others, he counts this instance as a great boon.

“…I’m going out there to look for them myself,” Noctis mutters, the low pitch of his mumbling diffusing the tense silence preceding it.

“You _can’t_ , Highness!” Ignis splays his arms to his sides, Gladio shaking his head in agreement.

“And _why_ the hell not –?!”

“You think goin’ out there and walkin’ right into the lion’s den is the way to go about this?! Luna said to _wait_ , Noct!” Gladio’s delicacy absent from his tone, his words so fiery and bold they could lick the frigid air around them into steam.

“Not to mention you’ve only just healed from the last attempt you made at searching the wilderness of Lucis on your own,” Ignis states, logically and cool. “I agree with Gladio. It is best to wait here, Noct, as Luna instructed.”

Noctis balls his gloved fists at his side, and Prompto looks between the three men before him, heart in his throat, blood in his ears –

“I’ll – I’ll go with you.”

Prompto’s face reddens as the interjection immediately draws their attention. Whatever brazen urge had possessed him to exclaim the declaration with confidence is exorcised by Ignis’ stony glare alone. Gladio cocks an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

It would be easier to dig through the glacier of frost that surrounds the Slough and disappear to the other end of the world than it would be to uproot himself from his verbally entrenched pit.

“…I – I’m pretty anxious too.” Prompto places a skinny metal piece against the ground, using a hand to hoist himself to his feet. It would come as no surprise to Prompto to learn that the heat he feels is from the chaos of his own inner monologue, rather than the fire at his side. “Why don’t we take a walk around the lake and see if we can find them? It’s not too far, and who knows – maybe we find something that’ll give us more of a clue at best, and we can walk off some of these bad vibes at worst.”

Suddenly, the heat diffuses back into a chill. No matter how warm the layers rest against his sweaty skin, how tall the fire blazes – Prompto shivers from nerves, lightheaded from his own proposition. _‘You always gotta open your big mouth’_ Prompto internally scolds himself, looking none of them in the eye. He forces himself to study a small jar of curry atop Ignis’ fold out table, the spice ground to a fine goldenrod, packed densely against the glass, and he _swears_ the jar is ultimately useless in containing it, his eyes begin to water so badly –

“If Noct insists on going out there, it would be best if he had an extra pair of eyes.” Ignis is curt, the abruptness of his statement barely masking his obvious distaste at either of their suggestions.

“I’ll have his back,” Prompto quickly proclaims, looking Ignis in his scrutinous, narrowed eyes. He hardly dares to blink, and certainly not to _breathe_. “I _promise_.”

Gladio and Ignis turn toward Noctis, who silently nods in agreement.

“…We’ll keep watch of the camp, especially in case Luna and Nyx show up while you’re gone,” Gladio waves a hand at them both. Ignis concedes the argument and the conversation as a whole, turning his back to them and twisting open the jar of curry. “If you notice anything suspicious out there, you call us, Noct,”

“Don’t do anything reckless or _stupid_. Stay on guard, watch your surroundings – _both_ of you. Don’t get ahead of yourselves, either. Prompto suggested only patrolling around the lake, so stick to your word, in case something happens and either me or Iggy need to scout after you. And _you_ –“

Prompto stops in his tracks, frowning as he reluctantly twists his upper body to meet Gladio’s gaze.

“Keep Noct on track. We’re counting on you.”

Prompto exhales a shaky breath through his parted lips; Gladio glares at him, intense and suddenly so much taller than Prompto had ever noticed him to be in the past. Noctis avoids their line of sight entirely, looking out toward the vast sheet of ice half a mile away. The dull, rhythmic thud of Ignis chopping onions against a cutting board signals neither his support nor denial of Gladio’s plea.

“…I understand. I won’t let you down.” Prompto whispers. He waits for Gladio to turn toward Ignis and assist before walking toward Noctis’ side.

Noctis carefully leads the way down the Haven’s rocky side, Prompto following gingerly behind him. They both land on the solid ground, their hands splayed to balance their falls. The crunch of icy leaves under their feet is rhythmic, strangely comforting. The steel toes of Prompto’s heavy boots kick bricks of ice into slushy mounds.

“…Thank you for offering to come with me, and I’m sorry if I’ve seemed short today,” Noctis mutters into the black scarf coiled tightly around his neck.

“No, no…” Prompto starts, waving his hands in front of him. “We’re all a bit on edge, you know?”

“Tch – yeah…”

“You can tell that Gladio and Ignis are nervous too, it’s alright – it makes sense…” Prompto nods, his encouraging words directed just as much toward himself as they are to Noctis. “Even if there’s nothing to report, just getting away from camp for a minute should help you clear your mind.”

“Mhm…” Noctis nods, scanning the horizon; nothing, of course – not even a stray Garula, or a winter hare. Frozen trees cluster together in a shimmering crystalline mass. The seemingly endless mountain range beyond looms above them like stony watch towers. Winter’s blanket completely conceals the sounds of Gladio and Ignis back at the Haven, and were it not for the occasional shifting of slowly melting snow under Prompto’s feet, it would be easy to forget he was not alone in the Slough, condemned forever to be frozen in his own anguish…

“Hey…” Prompto jolts Noctis out of his tunnel vision with a soft hand against his shoulder, features soft with concern. “Just _breathe_ , okay?”

Noctis stares at Prompto in silent longing, Prompto rolling his lips nervously underneath his teeth.

“You’re shaking…” Prompto concernedly notes, his hand firmer in its grip, steadying Noctis in place.

_“Breathe.”_

Noctis shakily exhales before taking Prompto’s advice, closing his eyes and inhaling serenely through his nostrils. It takes a few soundless moments until waves of calm eventually envelop him, smoothing his nerves to rival the perfectly even surface of the frozen lake before them. His heartbeat pumps against his chest with the slowest pace he’s felt since the morning.

He is grateful for Prompto next to him, who neither speaks nor rushes him, nor retracts his soothing hand from his shoulder.

“…Thanks...” Noctis exhales, nodding at Prompto. He can still feel the tension in his shoulders under Prompto’s touch, but his mind and heart slow; this contents him enough. “I just – I had to get away from them for a few minutes –“

Prompto side eyes Noctis with interest, rubbing his gloved hands for added heat; it only took a few minutes before he’d forgotten the feel of the Haven’s blazing fire.

“Sure, of course.” Prompto allows his words to settle between them before addressing Noctis once more. “Though it’s not like they could stop you even if I hadn’t offered, right? I mean, you’re the _king_ ,”

For the first time since that morning, Noctis smiles, a scoff of a laugh breathily escaping his lips.

“Sometimes it’s just easier _not_ to argue,” Noctis’ smirk only masks half the bitterness he attempts to conceal.

“I’m sure they mean well, though,” Prompto places a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the white sun that slowly crests beyond the edge of a snow-filled cloud.

“Doesn’t make it any less frustrating. It’s like they think I’m still a twelve year old brat or something! I’m just – I’m terrified. Terrified that there’s nothing I can do for Luna and Nyx, and that they’re both just within reach, but that when the moment comes, _I’d_ be the one to let them slip and fall…”

Prompto doesn’t look away from Noctis, his blue eyes understanding as Noctis takes a moment to regain his thoughts.

“I get being scared, Noct…” Prompto sighs, cheeks glowing red at drawing Noctis’ instantaneous attention at his usage of his nickname. Perhaps it was out of place to refer to him by such an intimate name, one certainly not meant for use by criminals or Graleans. It still feels right, Prompto internally justifies himself, _normal_. The short, soft, empathetic tone of Prompto’s voice feels natural and genuine, and based on the way Noctis’ features soften, he cannot help but find comfort in his words.

“I’m scared too. _Really_ scared…” he warily places the toe of his boot upon the frozen lake’s surface, relieved that its surface neither stirs nor cracks. “...I’ve been freaked out by _what ifs_ since I left Altissa to come and tell you what I knew. But I couldn’t let it get me down, the same way you’re not letting _your_ fear get _you_ down. No matter what happens, you can’t say you didn’t _try_. You’ve put your life on the line for them, you know? You’re not just sending out Glaives to do it for you, you’re risking your _own_ skin to save your friends. You can’t say that’s _nothing_.”

“Yeah…” Noctis’ grey eyes water, tears encouraged by a gust of wind catching on the corner of his smile. “You’re a really positive person, you know that?”

His words cause Prompto to stop wide eyed in his tracks. Noctis eventually slows before turning around to give Prompto a questioning look. Prompto lowers his head in embarrassment the instance their eyes meet, kicking at the ground with the heel of his boot. He can’t help but laugh sheepishly through his teeth. Noctis chuckles through his nose, locked in the warm, quiet smile he gives Prompto.

“Aww – _shucks_ , Noctis…” Prompto sputters through beet red cheeks sore from gentle laughter, scratching behind his neck.

“What?” Noctis’ smile spreads into a grin. His whole body tingles with weightlessness, half of him entirely preoccupied with the way a mere smile from Prompto was all it took to dissolve his fear and anxiety, the lethargy of his own self-loathing receding away as assuredly as ice upon the blades of grass would come Spring.

Prompto brings a gloved hand to cover his smile, the heaving of his shoulders betraying his attempts to quell his awkwardness.

“I just – you – well…” Prompto stutters, tucking his hand into his pockets. “I already told you, you’ve basically been my hero since middle school, so…” Prompto shrugs, opening his eyes to see Noctis is suddenly so very, _very_ close…

“Is that so?” Noctis chuckles, and Prompto nods.

“I told you that the other day…” his breath catches in his throat, and there’s something about the hunger in Noctis’ eyes that leave Prompto convinced that Noctis knows the truth, that Prompto had concealed part of the story from him; the part about how Prompto had once _dreamed_ of catching then Prince Noctis’ eye, his attention, his affection…

Prompto had sworn to himself that those days were over. He had been young, vulnerable, insecure – Noctis had only spoken to him that day the same way he had spoken to many young students across Lucis. Lingering traces of whatever he had once felt for Noctis in his youth were meant to be lost and forgotten with age and maturity, like emotional ruins.

Prompto had promised himself not to allow his feelings to affect his judgment. He had promised himself to hone his determination to look the very same man whom he had loved as an uplifting Prince in the eye and tell him about the pain he had wrought upon him as King instead.

Yet it all resurfaces, bursting through Prompto’s rationale, like a roaring river against a once resilient dam worn feeble under its powerful pressure.

“I like it better when you call me Noct, by the way…” Noctis whispers, his frozen breath breezing across Prompto’s frostbitten lips, equally cold hands cupping searing hot cheeks…

Prompto’s eyes flash with surprise, nervous energy surging to the very tips of his toes and fingers; this is not the first time he’s found himself precariously _close_ to the King, and he cannot help but feel relief that Gladio and Ignis are not there to observe their proximity to one another, for he has no desire to separate himself from Noctis’ embrace.

Perhaps Dave had been right; was this truly about Luna and Nyx, about political change? Or was Prompto simply looking to rekindle his childhood crush, to earn the praise and admiration he’d silently pined after in Noctis’ name?

 _Of course it was about Nyx and Luna_ , Prompto’s inner monologue retorts, though his thoughts fall silent as he shudders, the tips of their noses touching; questions of ethics and motivation could come _later_ …

“I’m really glad we met, Prompto…” Noctis drags his thumbs across Prompto’s cheeks, and his eyes follow the bob of Prompto’s throat as he harshly swallows. If only twelve year old Prompto could see him _now_.

But the moment never comes. Prompto’s eyes slowly part as Noctis gives him a squeeze upon his shoulder, backing up a more appropriate distance, as if released from the grips of some strange spell.

“We should probably head back, I don’t see either Luna or Nyx, and walking’s done me some good. Don’t want Gladio or Iggy to worry. Thanks for coming out with me, really. It means a lot.” Noctis sighs, and Prompto absentmindedly nods, his head still full of thoughts racing so wildly they nearly leave an audible static in his ears.

Noctis is careful to keep his distance, as well as conversation to a relative minimum; had he not stopped himself back there with Prompto, he silently admits to himself inside his head, he would have provoked the ire of Ignis and Gladio over more than just his desire to leave the Haven.

He shares the occasional smile with Prompto, who reciprocates the gesture, though is careful not to maintain eye contact for too long. The only thing that can take Noctis’ mind off Prompto, he realizes as they reach the Haven’s edge, is the sight of Luna waving at them beside Nyx, Gladio, and Ignis, more brilliant than all the ice and snow that surrounds them.


End file.
